A Very Bad Day
by EKWTSM9
Summary: Sometimes life comes at you at angles you can't anticipate or prepare for - you can only react and hope you are right.
1. Chapter 1

**My stories are for my own pleasure; SOSF is the sole property of Quinn Martin Productions and I use the characters for purely personal entertainment purposes. Thanks!**

The black-and-white flew down the street, the blare of the siren bouncing off the walls of the wooden flophouses, the spinning red lights adding an eerie splash of colour to the overcast waning light. The patrol car squealed to a sliding stop beside the tan LTD, the passenger side door opening while the vehicle was still in motion.

Patrolman Andy Madsen, his service revolver already in his hand, glanced into the unmarked car, then made his way cautiously to the front door of the dilapidated two-storey structure whose battered front door stood open. As his partner, Patrolman Tom McKinley, closed in behind him, Madsen whispered over his shoulder with a nod towards the LTD, "That's 81."

McKinley nodded, and the pair cautiously stepped through the doorway, unsettled by the ominous silence. There was a short corridor straight ahead of them, dark and foreboding; the ceiling light was off. McKinley saw the switch and flicked it on but nothing happened. They could make out piles of garbage on the floor and the place reeked of spoiled food, excrement and the distinct smell of unwashed human beings. It was all they could do not to gag.

Madsen took another step forward then froze, cocking his head instinctively. Was that a moan? Cautiously and quietly, he moved further down the corridor and into a small alcove that led to a flight of stairs. Someone was on the floor at the foot of the stairs, moaning, trying to get to their feet by hanging onto the banister post.

Rapidly sizing up the situation and realizing this person was in no condition to be a threat at the moment, the two patrolmen sprang forward. The injured man had pulled himself up and was trying to take a step towards them, and they managed to catch him before he fell face first onto the floor. "Easy, easy," McKinley said quietly, lowering the injured and bloodied man down.

"Steve?" Madsen asked quickly, softly, his voice laced with disbelief, and McKinley glanced quickly at his partner before refocusing on the man in his arms.

A blood-covered, horribly swollen face wobbled, trying to look up. A pain-filled moan escaped the bloody split lips as he tried to focus through eyes quickly disappearing from the rapid swelling. Madsen snapped over his shoulder. "Call for back-up and a couple of buses." McKinley was up and on his way to the door before Madsen had time to turn his attention back to the almost unrecognizable detective.

Steve was trying to talk. "Mmm….mmmm…" he groaned, and his slit eyes closed briefly. They opened again as he tried to pull away from Madsen's grip, turning back towards the stairs.

"Steve, what happened?"

"Mmm…Mike…Mike…" came the pain-filled gasp.

Madsen glanced up the stairs. "Mike's up there?"

Steve nodded, wincing and tried once more to move towards the stairs. Madsen held tight. "You're not going anywhere. Wait till Tom gets back and I'll go up there. We have back-up and ambulances coming."

Madsen heard McKinley running back down the corridor and slide to a stop beside him. "They're on their way," he said breathlessly.

Madsen lifted Steve slightly and pushed him towards his partner. "Mike's up there," he explained quickly, nodding up the staircase. "You wait here, I'm going up."

With a quick nod and holding Steve gently, McKinley nodded. "Be careful."

Madsen started quietly and quickly up the steps; Steve tried to pull away from McKinley to follow. "No, no, no, Steve, you've got to stay here. Andy'll find Mike."

# # # # #

Madsen stepped off the top step and onto the landing. There were two doors, one closed, one open. Surmising that the open door was the one he wanted, he moved silently across the floor and entered the apartment.

Immediately he could tell that the layout would be much the same as in any number of flophouses in the city. A long central corridor lead to a 'living room' open area at the back, and doors on either side off the corridor would open to the galley kitchen, nearest the door, and one, possibly two small bedrooms and a tiny bathroom.

The apartment smelled of garbage, faeces, blood and gunpowder. He thought he could see a body at the end of the corridor.

With pounding heart, Madsen moved cautiously down the corridor to the door on his left. He stepped across the threshold and dropped into a shooting stance, then raised the gun when he realized the kitchen was empty. The room was dirty and cluttered, the cupboard door under the sink open. There was a small pool of blood on the floor in front of the refrigerator and smear of blood down the fridge door.

Moving quietly past the open cupboard door and stepping over the pool of blood, Madsen exited the second kitchen door back out into the corridor. Gun up, he moved towards the next doorway, swung into the room, which was mercifully empty of everything including furniture, then back into the corridor once more.

He glanced quickly once again at the body on the floor, now convinced it was the lieutenant; but he also knew he had to make sure the other rooms were empty and secure before he could proceed further. Peripherally he became aware of approaching sirens.

The silence becoming frightening oppressive, he swung quickly once more into the next open door, but the filthy bathtub and moldy sink told him instantly this room was also empty. There was only the room at the end of the hall remaining, and as he approached it in a crouch, getting closer to the man on the floor, he took his left hand off the gun and reached down to lay his fingers against the unconscious lieutenant's neck, feeling for a pulse.

Relaxing slightly when he felt one, he glanced down at his fallen colleague. Mike was on his back, the right side of his torso and his right arm soaked in fresh blood. His .38 service revolver was in his left hand.

Madsen straightened up and stepped further into the room. There was a large mattress and box spring in the centre of the room, the filthy rumpled sheets soaked with blood. Against the far wall was a large splatter of blood, which disappeared in a downward streak. Making his way cautiously around the bed, gun ready, Madsen spotted a dirty, blood-covered foot.

Stepping further forward, ready for any sign of movement, Madsen cleared the bed. A young afro-haired black man lay on his back, arms and legs outspread, eyes wide open, a bullet hole over his heart.

Madsen took a step backward, slowly lowering his gun. He could hear loud footsteps back down the corridor, and someone yelled, "Police!" He turned his head, calling over his shoulder. "We're clear! We need medics in here fast! We have a man down!" He was relieved to hear footsteps pounding down the corridor.

# # # # #

They had managed to get Steve Keller onto a gurney but not into the ambulance. He had grabbed onto McKinley's arm. "Please," he moaned between swollen lips, "…Mike…I have to see…if he's okay…"

McKinley looked to the ambulance attendants. "Hang on, fellas, please." He smiled back at Steve as best he could, trying to keep the worry out of his expression. "Just a couple of minutes, okay? If they're not out soon, I'll go in and find out how he is."

The area was now buzzing with back-up officers and, a minute before, the second ambulance had pulled up and the attendants had off-loaded the gurney and disappeared into the apartment.

Steve closed his eyes, and McKinley knew he was fighting to stay conscious – that the obvious beating he had taken was exacting its toll. It was only a matter of time till he wouldn't be able to stay awake any longer. McKinley shuddered. In his albeit brief career as a San Francisco Police Officer, he had never seen anyone as badly beaten up as Steve seemed to be, and it frightened him. What the hell had happened up there?

Suddenly there were shouts from inside the apartment and the second gurney shot out of the front door. The attendants were at either end, moving as fast as they could. Mike lay unmoving on the gurney, but even at a distance, McKinley could see the blood soaked jacket. Madsen was jogging alongside the gurney, holding a pressure bandage against the lieutenant's right shoulder. He glanced up at McKinley as they crossed the short distance to the ambulance.

Putting a comforting hand on his arm, McKinley glanced down at Steve, who was half-sitting up, swollen eyes riveted on his partner. As they watched, Mike's left arm slipped off the gurney and dangled limply. McKinley felt Steve stiffen under his touch.

The second gurney was slid into the other ambulance and Madsen slammed the doors as one attendant stepped up into the back and other ran around to the driver's seat. Madsen pounded twice on the back door as the ambulance screamed away from the scene, siren wailing.

As McKinley started to turn to the two attendants with him, he felt Steve go limp under his touch. One of the attendants, who had been watching, caught the injured man before his head hit the gurney, lowered him gently, then with practiced precision, the gurney was slid into the ambulance and the doors shut.

With a worried sigh, McKinley watched it drive off, it's own siren mixing with that of the first. He became aware of Madsen walking up behind him and a reassuring hand grip his shoulder. After several seconds, they turned and walked back into the apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

"What the hell happened?" Captain Rudy Olsen's voice could be heard above the babble as he strode into the waiting room. Sergeant Norm Haseejian broke away from a small group of uniformed officers and crossed towards him.

Shaking his head, the Armenian detective snapped his notebook shut. "I'm about to head over to the scene, just wanted to stop here first to find out what's going on. All we know so far is, Mike's in surgery, Steve is having his face put back together and no one has any idea why they were even there. As far as anyone knows, that location has no connection whatsoever to the case they were working on."

"How bad are they?"

"Well, from what we could find out from the ambulance guys, Mike took one large caliber bullet to the right shoulder and he lost a hell of a lot of blood; he was unconscious when they got there and he didn't wake up.

"Steve was badly beaten; even the guys that found him didn't recognize him. He lost consciousness at the scene and as far as we know right now, he hasn't woken up yet either, but nobody's really come out to talk to us for about fifteen minutes now."

Olsen looked around anxiously, worried. "And I gather we have one dead at the scene?"

"Yeah," Haseejian nodded, "but I have no details yet. That's why I want to get over there. Dan, Lee and Bill are there already, and the lab guys. You wanna ride with me?" he asked his boss.

Olsen shook his head. "No thanks, I'll hang around here for awhile, find out how they're doing. Just get back to me as soon as you find out what happened and why, okay?"

"We'll do our best, sir," Haseejian nodded again, turned to leave and then looked back. "If, ah, if you get the chance to see either of them…?"

Olsen smiled warmly and put a hand on the detective's forearm. "Of course, Norm," he said with a smile.

As the sergeant moved off, Olsen glanced once more around the room, nodding in recognition to most of the officers who had already congregated at the hospital. He sat heavily and dropped his head into hands, hoping it wasn't going to be a long wait, praying that it wouldn't be a tragic one.

# # # # #

Detective Bill Tanner jogged up to Haseejian's car as the sergeant got out. "How are they?" he asked quickly.

Haseejian shrugged. "No news yet – Mike's still in surgery and Steve hasn't woken up yet, as far as I know. Look, let's, uh, let's just get to work on finding out why and what, okay?" He sounded harsher than he meant to but his nerves were fraying fast and he had to establish some kind of protocol. "What do we know so far?" he asked as they crossed to the tan LTD still parked in front of the building.

As they stopped, they were joined by Patrolmen Madsen and McKinley. Madsen and Haseejian shook hands; they had met before. Madsen introduced McKinley to the two homicide detectives.

"You guys were the first here?" Haseejian asked as Tanner checked out the unmarked sedan.

Madsen nodded. "Yeah, we heard the call about shots fired and we were only about six blocks away so we answered it. We found this just as you see it," he gestured at the car, "the doors were closed, no gumball, like they just drove up and parked. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Tanner pulled his head out from the passenger side front window and turned to his colleague. "Nothing in there out of place."

Haseejian looked back at the patrolmen, and Madsen continued. "We found Steve at the foot of the staircase on the first floor," he said as he led them into the building and towards the stairs. Both he and McKinley had armed themselves with flashlights and he played his beam around the hallway. He shuddered slightly as he looked at the banister post. "I didn't recognize him, his face was a bloody pulp. But we knew it was their car, so…"

The light picked up the streaks of blood on the post and the down the railing, mute testimony to the effort it had taken Steve Keller to get down the stairs in his desperate attempt to get help.

Haseejian took a deep breath and nodded, then led the way slowly up the stairs to the second floor.

"Tom stayed with Steve down there," Madsen continued, "after calling for back-up and ambulances, and I made my way up here." They stood for several long seconds in the hallway outside the two apartment doors. They could hear the crime lab guys talking quietly through the open door of the apartment on the right. Madsen gestured towards the left door. "The doors were as you see them, so it didn't take a lot of thought for me to figure out the right one was the one I had to go into."

Madsen lead them to the door of the apartment then stopped. "When I stepped through the door, all I could smell was blood and gunpowder. There was no sound, nothing. I, ah, I thought I could see a body on the floor at the end of the hall but I knew I had to secure rest of the place first."

He preceded them into the narrow kitchen then stood near the door as Haseejian and Tanner stepped inside for a closer look. A crime lab technician was taking blood samples from the congealing pool on the floor in front of the fridge, blood that they now knew must be Mike's. The crime scene photographer was changing the roll of film in one of his cameras. They all exchanged nods of recognition.

"This is exactly like I found it," Madsen continued. "The cupboard door was open and all this crap was on the floor… and the blood…"

The cops took in the room, their trained eyes noting and recording everything they saw. There were dark smudges of fingerprint dust on the open cupboard door and the counter, blood drops leading from the pool in front of the fridge out the second door and into the hallway.

Not wanting to disturb the lab tech, the four exited back out the first door and down the hallway towards the back room. They could see Lessing, Healey and Peter Ramsay, the on-call medical examiner.

They passed the empty bedroom and decaying bathroom and came to a halt outside the 'bedroom' door. Lessing and Healey looked up from their positions at the far side of the bed, where Ramsay was on his knees.

Madsen gestured down at the floor near the door where there was another large pool of blood. "Mike was lying here, on his back. He was unconscious but I found a pulse in his neck. He was covered in blood." He hesitated for a second, then pointed at the .38 still on the floor near the doorframe. "His piece was in his left hand." He looked up into Haseejian's eyes. "And that's when I found _him_." He nodded in the direction of the far wall, where Ramsay was kneeling.

Healey and Lessing stepped back and out of the way so Haseejian and Tanner could take their places. Ramsay looked up from his position on the floor as the new arrivals studied the almost naked body of the young man lying prostrate before them.

"Norm, Bill," he said in greeting, "well, we won't know more until we cut him open, of course, but, at first glance, I'd say the shot through the heart is what killed him," he said, gesturing at the small blood-filled hole in the centre of the man's chest. Anticipating Haseejian's snide comment, he continued hastily, "And before you say 'that's obvious', look here," he said, raising the dead man's left arm, exposing another entry wound about four inches below the armpit. "It seems this shot came from the side and, as I can't find an exit wound, it's still in there somewhere."

"So, that shot could have been the one to kill him?" Haseejian asked carefully, trying to understand exactly what Ramsay was implying.

"What I'm saying is, either bullet could have killed him, but from what I can see right now, this is the wound that bled the most, so he was still alive after this bullet entered his body. A good guess is that most of the blood on the bed right here is his. Alternately, there is no blood around the second entry wound, the one through his sternum, which means his heart wasn't pumping," Ramsay answered, equally cautiously. They all knew what he was intimating, and none of them liked it.

Healey cleared his throat and everyone looked at him. "Ah, we have five fresh bullet holes in the walls in here," he said as he straightened up and began pointing around the room. "Here, here, here, here and here."

"From Mike's gun?" asked Tanner, puzzled.

"Nope." Healey gestured under the bed and Ramsay twisted around to lift the corner of the sheet that was half-off the bed, exposing a Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum. "We left it there so you could see where it was, same with Mike's .38. The pictures have already been taken so it can be bagged and tagged."

Haseejian kneeled down to get a closer look.

"It's empty" Healey continued. "So we're thinking, five shots into the walls in here, and the sixth is the one in Mike's shoulder?"

"Yeah, but, from what we can tell right now, Mike was shot in the kitchen, right?" Haseejian said quietly as he stood. On Healey's nod, he shook his head in confusion. "That doesn't make too much sense, does it?" After a pause, he looked at Healey again. "How many from Mike's gun?"

"Two," Healey answered with a sigh, glancing back down at the body of their still unidentified victim. "So, we're working at trying to get an I.D. on this guy, but we can't find a 'landlord' and nobody's home next door. There's no mail lying around anyplace with a name on it – that's no surprise - and no one in that crowd outside seems to know anything about this guy, or at least is willing to admit to knowing him. It's gonna be a slog, Norm, and until we get to talk to either Mike or Steve and find out what happened…" He left the end of the sentence hanging.

Nodding, Haseejian tried to smile. "Yeah, well, that's not gonna be for quite awhile, I'm thinking." He sighed sadly then pulled himself out of his reverie. "Okay, fellas, let's get to work. Details, I want details. You know how Mike'll be if we don't record everything, and I mean _everything,_ in this apartment… We all know what's at stake here, right?"

The others nodded soberly and fanned out. They could hear footsteps in the hallway and two morgue techs with a stretcher entered the room. Ramsay stood up to give them access to the body. As they began to lift it, Ramsay yelled for them to stop. "Sergeant!" he called and both Haseejian and Healey crossed back to the far side of the room.

Ramsay pointed. The techs had the dead man's body partially lifted and there, under the small of his back, lay a large blood-covered butcher knife. The two homicide detectives shared a concerned and confused look. "Jimmy!" Healey yelled over his shoulder to the photographer in the other room, as he and Haseejian stepped back to make room.

Healey looked at Haseejian. "Jesus, Norm, what the hell happened in here?"


	3. Chapter 3

Rudy Olsen's hands were wrapped around a cardboard cup of tepid questionable coffee. It was at least his third since he'd sat down in the hospital waiting room what seemed like hours ago; he couldn't remember the time or the coffees. Concerned and supportive colleagues were keeping him company. But the mood in the room was getting restive; too much time with no word was beginning to make everyone edgy.

A rise in the volume of the heretofore subdued chatter alerted the captain that hopefully someone had arrived to tell them about the injured detectives. Olsen looked up to see a middle-aged doctor, his green scrubs stained with blood, approaching and he got to his feet. Someone took the coffee cup from his hand.

"Captain Olsen? I'm Doctor Roberts, one of the surgeons looking after your colleagues today. Why don't we have a seat?" he smiled kindly and gestured at the chair Olsen had just vacated. They both sat, with a large group of uniformed and plainclothes officers gathered around them.

"How are they, doc?" Olsen asked with a little more anxiety in his voice than he wished.

"Well, I can tell you about both of them. They're going to be fine. It's going to take some time, but eventually both of them will be back at work as if nothing had happened, I can guarantee you."

Roberts watched the older man visibly relax; this was one part of a very difficult job that he actually liked – being the bearer of good news. It didn't always happen. "I operated on the lieutenant, and I can tell you right now he's going to recover completely. He was hit once in the right shoulder, and the bullet went right through. It entered just below his collarbone at a very steep upward angle and came out his back just above the shoulder blade.

"However, it was quite a rocky road to get him into Recovery, let me tell you. When he got here, he was in what we call 'hemorrhagic shock'; he'd lost almost forty percent of his blood volume, which is about as close as you can come to bleeding out without actually succumbing. We intubated him and got IV lines going with both blood and saline to resuscitate him," Roberts saw Olsen wince at the word, "and got him into the OR right away. It was very close, but everything went incredibly smoothly, we were able to locate and stop the hemorrhage quickly and now he's in Recovery. He still unconscious but his prognosis is excellent and we expect him to start waking up in the next few hours."

He glanced up at the others, smiling assuredly. "He'll be in ICU for a couple of days while we bring his blood level up to normal and keep an eye on him for any possible complications, but he's strong and healthy and he should come out of this no worse for wear." Roberts looked back at Olsen. "Believe me, Captain, this is the best outcome we could have hoped for. The lieutenant was lucky. The bullet just nicked the axillary artery – that's part of the big one that goes up through the shoulder and down the arm. The tear in the artery wall was tiny, but enough to cause continual blood-loss, especially if pressure wasn't applied immediately and, from what I gather, it wasn't. But he was also extremely lucky – an eighth of an inch higher, the wound would have been a through-and-through and he would have walked out of here without surgery, just a couple of bandages, but an eighth of an inch lower and you'd have been arranging his funeral."

Olsen took a deep breath, and rubbed his hands down his cheeks and over his mouth, sighing loudly and, it seemed, happily. He even managed a smile. "How's the inspector doing?" he asked, brow furrowing once more.

There was movement in the group of officers eavesdropping, and Roberts glanced up and smiled. "Perfect timing," he said lightly as another doctor appeared through the crowd. Roberts stood. "Captain Olsen, this is Doctor Albertson. He's the one who's been looking after the inspector. Gentlemen, I have to get back to my patients. Captain," he turned to Olsen, shaking his hand again, "your men are in good hands. You can all stop worrying." And with that he was gone.

"Captain," said Albertson, raising his hands in a placating gesture, "let me reassure you and your men here that the inspector is going to be just fine, but it's gonna take a little while till he's back to normal. He took one hell of a beating, I can tell you that, and he's gonna need some time and a little plastic surgery to get back to looking like he did before this happened."

At Olsen's grimace, Albertson took a brief pause then continued. "Most of the inspector's more serious injuries involve his head. However he has a deep laceration in his left bicep, probably from a knife, that required 15 stitches to close, and a penetrating wound in his left pectoral muscle, just above his nipple, about two centimeters deep, probably from the same knife. But these two wounds are essentially superficial.

Albertson let these details sink in before he continued. "He has a non-displaced zygomatic orbital fracture – that's this bone here," he demonstrated on himself by touching the bone on the outside of his left eye, "that fortunately doesn't need surgery. He has a hairline jaw fracture along the left side that unfortunately meant wiring his jaw shut. And he has a badly broken nose, which will eventually need surgery. Needless to say, the inspector is going to be spending a bit of time with us before he'll be allowed to go home."

Olsen sighed loudly. "Wow, um, is he conscious?"

Albertson smiled encouragingly. "He began to come around earlier while we were working on him and we immediately got him on some more powerful drugs to put him under. He's having no problem breathing through his mouth, which is a good thing, but he'll be in a hell of a lot of pain if he comes to right now. So for his sake, we are going to keep him sedated, and keep a very close eye on his respirations, for the next 24 hours or so. He'll be in the ICU cubicle beside his partner when the lieutenant gets there, not that either of them will be aware of that."

A relieved murmur wafted through the group, and Olsen finally allowed himself a relieved smile. He stood as the doctor did and held out his hand. "Thank you very much, Dr. Albertson, you've managed to brighten a very dark day for all of us."

Albertson's grin was broad and genuine. "I don't know if Dr. Roberts mentioned it, but delivering good news is one of the best perks of this job."

# # # # #

The sun now completely set, Haseejian was leaning against the tan LTD, arms folded, head down. The coroner's wagon and most of the black-and-whites were gone, as were the groups of curious neighbours. Healey walked slowly out the flophouse door and crossed to join his colleague, turning to lean against the car as well.

After several long silent seconds, Healey sighed loudly. "So what do _you_ think happened up there?" he asked quietly.

Continuing to look down, Haseejian shook his head slowly. "I have no idea, except I can't stop thinking that Mike shot a dead man through the heart." He looked up at Healey, concern furrowing his brow. "It just doesn't make sense."

"Yeah," Healey agreed reluctantly, as they both fell silent once again.

"Oh, ah," Haseejian perked up slightly, "I talked to Rudy. Mike's out of surgery; it was touch-and-go but he's gonna be okay. Steve's pretty messed up. He has a broken jaw, a broken nose and some kinda fracture of the bone around his left eye. But neither of them are gonna be able to talk to us for awhile."

"Well, that's good news at least," Healey grinned, relieved, and reached up to massage his stiff neck. It was turning out to be a very long day.

They both looked up as the photographer exited the building and started towards his car. "Jimmy," Haseejian yelled towards him, "I want those pictures on my desk asap, all right?"

Biting back a frustrated sigh, the photographer nodded as he opened the back door of the black compact and set his camera case on the backseat.

Patrolman Madsen, who with his partner McKinley were still on-site, strolled towards the detectives, frowning. "Jimmy? I thought his name was Roger?"

"It is," said Haseejian with an agreeing nod.

His frown deepening, Madsen began slowly, "So why do you …?"

Healey's chuckle cut him off, and Haseejian glanced at his colleague, his own grin building. "Do you want to tell him or can I?"

"Go right ahead," Healey laughed with a 'be my guest' gesture.

With an almost evil cackle, Haseejian began. "When Roger joined the crime lab a coupla years ago, for some reason Mike kept having trouble remembering his name. It was driving Steve crazy. We were all getting a big kick out of it – every time he'd run into him at a scene, Mike would call him by a different name. And poor Roger was so insecure that he didn't have the nerve to correct him.

"So one day we were all at this murder site and Mike wanted to make sure it was all documented and he kept calling for 'Jimmy', and Roger, who was nearby, didn't realize he was being addressed and the louder Mike got, the more everybody cringed until finally Steve just lost it. He yelled at Mike, asking him who the hell was 'Jimmy', and Mike shouted back 'Jimmy, the photographer' and Steve yelled 'his name is Roger!' And then everyone just froze and it got really, really quiet and Mike and Steve were just staring at each other…and then this little voice pipes up, 'That's okay, I can answer to Jimmy'."

Healey was doubled over, wiping tears from his eyes remembering the tensely funny scene while Madsen's ever-widening eyes never left Haseejian's face.

"Needless to say," Haseejian continued, chuckling, "we've been calling him Jimmy ever since."

Their laughter eventually quieted and as the silence once again took over, they remembered where they were and why they were there. Haseejian raised his head. "Come on," he said quietly, "let's get out of here. I want to drop by the hospital before I go home, just to see…well, you know," he looked up, almost embarrassed.

Healey nodded slowly. "I know," he said kindly, "I'll go with you."


	4. Chapter 4

Olsen snapped awake when he felt someone touch his arm. He hadn't realized he had dozed off. He looked up into the compassionate smiling eyes of an older nurse.

"I'm sorry, Captain Olsen," she said softly, "but you asked me to let you know when Lieutenant Stone started to wake up."

Olsen perked up and managed to smile back as he shook himself awake. "Thank you, thank you, that's great news." He stood a little unsteadily and she grabbed his arm. "Sorry, it's been a long night and I'm not used to sleeping on chairs anymore."

As they crossed the waiting room, Rudy could see the morning sun just beginning to colour the sky. A few officers were still there, slumped in chairs like he had been, but for the most part the room was empty.

She led him into ICU and towards a dimly lit cubicle. "He's not awake yet and it could still take awhile till he's able to talk, but I thought you might want to be here."

She indicated a stool near the head of the higher than normal bed. Olsen nodded his thanks and climbed gingerly onto the stool. "I'll get them to bring you a proper chair," she said with a smile as she left the room.

Mike Stone looked very pale and frightening fragile lying amongst an array of wires, tubes and beeping monitors. His right shoulder was lightly bandaged, his right arm in a sling and strapped across his chest. Olsen could recognize the heart monitor and the bag of blood hanging from an IV pole being infused into his lower left forearm, the blood pressure cuff on his left bicep and the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, but everything else was a confusing and concerning jumble.

Tentatively, Olsen reached out and put his hand over Mike's left hand, which was lying on the bed at his side. He felt the warm fingers react to the touch; the lieutenant's head moved slightly and the closed eyes twitched. He leaned over the bed. "Mike, it's Rudy, I'm here with you. You're in Franklin. You've been shot but you're gonna be okay."

Olsen sat back, tightened his grip on his colleague's hand, and waited.

# # # # #

When Dan Healey walked into the Homicide office, he was only vaguely surprised to see Norm Haseejian already there. "I thought you were going home when I left you last night?"

Haseejian glanced up from the scattered pile of colour photographs laid out on his desk. "I did," he said gruffly, his voice tainted by lack of sleep rather than irritation, "but I couldn't get my brain to shut off so I came back here. Here," he gestured towards the prints, "have a look at these and tell me what you see."

Healey pulled a chair to a corner of the desk and began to go through the photos as Haseejian got up to pour himself another cup of coffee. "Oh, I got a call from Rudy again last night. The doctors told him that the bullet Mike took to the shoulder was a through and through. Did you hear from the lab boys if they found a spent shot in the kitchen? 'Cause I sure didn't."

Healey looked up, brow furrowed. "No. But it's gotta be there, right? We better get back there. It has to be there somewhere."

"The place is sealed and there's a black-and-white outside; it'll keep for now. I want you to go through these first and tell me what you think?"

"Why?" Healey asked suspiciously, "did you find something?"

"You tell me," Haseejian said cryptically as he sat once more at his desk.

# # # # #

Lee Lessing couldn't take his eyes off the bandages that swaddled the head of his friend and fellow officer. Steve Keller's face was still so puffy and discoloured that even his partner would have been hard pressed to recognize him. His eyes were almost swollen shut, his nose was splinted and his wired jaw was thrust forward at strange and disturbing angle. The bandages didn't so much cover wounds but cradle his head should the inspector regain consciousness suddenly and begin to thrash around, as had been known to happen.

And though Steve was still heavily sedated, Lessing leaned over the bed anyway and whispered, "Steve, it's Lee. You're in Franklin. You and Mike were hurt and you're both here. Mike's doing great and he's gonna be fine. You're pretty banged up and you're gonna be here for awhile, but you're gonna be okay too."

Lessing sat back, feeling useless and sad, but he kept his hand over Steve's and squeezed reassuringly.

# # # # #

Healey sat back and rubbed his hands over his face as Haseejian watched him from across the desk.

"So, what do you think happened?"

Healey took a deep breath then said quietly, "Probably exactly what you think. Somehow they were jumped in the kitchen and Mike took the bullet to the shoulder – probably 'our victim' was in the cupboard under the sink," he said, picking up the photo of the open cupboard door, "he went down, Steve took off after the guy, they ended up going hand to hand in the bedroom on the bed – hence the knife – Steve got a little sliced up and probably this guy head butted him a few times – breaking his nose, his jaw and his eye socket.

"Somehow, and god only knows how bleeding as much as he was, Mike got to his feet and made it to the bedroom door, and, with his gun in his _left_ hand, managed to put a bullet into this guys side." Healey sounded incredulous. A right-hander himself, he couldn't imagine shooting with that kind of accuracy with his left hand. He met Haseejian's intense stare. "Is that what you were thinking?"

"What about those five shots into the bedroom walls?"

"That had to have happened before Mike and Steve got there, leaving only one bullet in the chamber."

The Armenian detective's smile was slow to build. "It's like you were reading my mind." He sighed, his smile disappearing. "That has to have been how it went down. I can't see any other way. But we still have a lot of unanswered questions. Like why the hell they were there in the first place, how did this guy get the drop on them and why couldn't Steve take him down."

Healey nodded. "And the two bigger questions: how come the guy was shot twice if the first bullet dropped him, and why was the knife _under_ his body?"

"Yeah," Haseejian agreed slowly, "that's bothering me too. Mike wouldn't shoot an unarmed man." He looked at Healey hopefully, but they both could hear the unspoken 'would he?' in his tone.

# # # # #

Olsen watched as Mike's eyes finally opened. He leaned closer and squeezed his hand. "Mike…. Mike, it's Rudy." When there was no sign of recognition, Olsen half-stood and leaned over the bed into his friend's field of vision. "Mike, can you hear me?"

Mike blinked slowly, his eyes unfocused. It was almost as if he was still asleep. Olsen had been told by the doctors that this was to be expected initially; Mike's body was still trying to recover from the almost catastrophic blood loss and it would probably be another day before he was strong enough to talk.

As Olsen watched, Mike's eyes slowly closed, but his grip on Rudy's hand grew tighter.

# # # # #

Lessing was jarred awake by a sudden moan. A quick glance at the bed told him that Steve was awake and not happy. He was trying to move his head to one side and reaching out widely with his right hand. Grabbing the flailing hand, Lessing leaned over the bed so Steve could see him.

"Steve, Steve, it's Lee. Relax, man, you're in the hospital. You've been hurt pretty bad and you've got to take it easy so you don't hurt yourself some more, okay? Relax…relax…"

Lessing could see the fear in his eyes even through the puffiness. Steve was trying to talk but all that he could get out was a moaning sound, and his hold of Lessing's hand grew tighter.

"Mike? Are you asking about Mike?"

He saw Steve nod ever so slightly and felt his hand squeezed harder. Lessing allowed himself a comforting smile. "Mike's okay, Mike's gonna be fine. He's in the room right next to you, right through there," he said, pointing to Steve's left. "He was hurt too but he's gonna be fine. You don't have to worry about him."

But he could see that his words were having no affect; Steve was still staring at him with panic in his eyes. Lessing was at a loss; he didn't know what more he could say to assuage his friend's deepest fear.

He felt a presence over his shoulder. One of the younger resident's had entered the cubicle and was standing behind him. Lessing glanced back, noting the name 'Oliver' on the doctor's tag.

"I see the inspector's woken up," Oliver said with a smile, then sobered when he caught the agitated look in his patient's eyes. "Is there a problem?" he asked quietly.

Lessing sat back slightly and turned to face him. "He's worried about his partner, the lieutenant next door. I think the last time he saw him, it was pretty bad. I have a feeling he's not going to relax until he sees that Mike's okay."

Oliver nodded. "I understand. People can be very vulnerable in situations like this. Unfortunately, the lieutenant's not stable enough to be moved and neither is he right now," he said, nodding at Steve. He paused for a moment then brightened. He leaned past Lessing and addressed Steve directly. "Inspector, if you give me just a couple of minutes, I think I can let you see your partner and then you'll know he's gonna be okay. Okay?"

Frowning, Lessing watched as the young resident jogged from the room, stopped briefly at the nurse's station to confer with a colleague and then disappeared from sight. He turned to Steve, squeezed his hand and smiled. "Don't ask me," he said with a chuckle, "I have no idea what he's up to."

Steve seemed to relax and closed his eyes, but he held onto Lessing's hand with surprising strength.

A couple of minutes later, Lessing saw Oliver return. The resident spoke briefly once again to a colleague, who disappeared into Mike's cubicle next door. Oliver crossed to the area between the two rooms. He was staring into the second room then he nodded and turned towards Lessing and Steve. He nodded once more at Lessing, then at someone out of sight, who approached Oliver with a large mirror, the kind that lives on the back of a bathroom door.

The two doctors held the mirror up, Oliver looking to Lessing for guidance. Suddenly realizing what was required of him, Lessing nodded his head first one direction then another until the angle was just right, then he leaned over the bed. "Steve," he said quietly, "I'm gonna raise your bed slightly, okay? You need to see something."

Steve's eyes registered his confusion, but as the bed started to elevate, he looked towards the door and his swollen eyes seemed to widen in surprise.

Oliver, a huge smile on his handsome young face, was holding the mirror at such an angle that Steve could see into Mike's room. Mike's bed had also been slightly raised, and as the battered and worried inspector watched, his bandaged but very much alive partner managed to raise his left hand and give him the thumbs up.


	5. Chapter 5

"Take your time, and rest when you need to. And if you feel you have to stop at anytime, then just stop; we can finish this later, okay?"

Olsen stepped back to sit in a chair near the door of the ICU cubicle. Haseejian and Healey, both smiling warmly, moved closer to either side of the bed as Mike nodded in understanding and agreement. The two homicide detectives had looked in on both their injured colleagues a little earlier; this visit was an official one, and their professional demeanors took over.

"You know what we need, Mike," Haseejian prompted gently, "but don't rush it, we don't have to do this all at once, okay?"

With a grateful smile, Mike nodded again. "Thanks, Norm." His voice was weak and hoarse.

"Mike, if I may," Healey began as he flipped his notebook open, "what were you and Steve doing there in the first place?"

"Sudbina," Mike said with a tiny smile. At Healey's frown, he continued, "It's Serbian. It means fate." His smile disappeared. "We were a couple a blocks away, trying to locate one of our witnesses, and not successfully. We were just getting back in the car when this young guy walked up to us, he was carrying a couple of suitcases, and asked if we were cops.

"He told us he lived in this hovel, he called it, a couple of blocks away and he'd literally just packed up and moved out because he was afraid of his neighbour." Mike paused and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly.

"He was very calm about it all; he told us he was used to his drug addict neighbour getting wasted and throwing stuff around and screaming like a banshee, but this time he seemed to have acquired a gun. He said he was sitting on his couch when a bullet came through the wall and almost hit him. So he packed up and got the hell out of there."

Healey and Haseejian exchanged a look, a move not lost on the lieutenant, who chose not to comment on it.

"Did you get the guy's name?" Haseejian asked.

Mike nodded. "Steve has it in his book."

They had noticed the last entries when they went through both detectives' notebooks; now they knew the significance of the last one in Steve's.

"We drove over there and went in. The entire building seemed to be empty; there was no one around. We went up to the apartment in question; the front door was open. We had our guns out and I identified us as we entered.

"We went through the whole place and there was nothing. It was filthy and it reeked and I didn't want to touch anything, but we didn't find _any_ body. We did see the bullet holes in the bedroom walls."

Mike paused again, closing his eyes and holding his breath. After a few seconds he opened his eyes and reached for the glass of water on the table beside the bed. Haseejian beat him to it and held the glass for him to take a sip through the straw.

Mike nodded his thanks as Haseejian put the glass back on the table.

"We can take a break if you want…"

"No, no," Mike said slowly and carefully, "you need to hear this and I'm fine, really. I'm not in much pain, I'm just really weak. But thanks."

"Sure, but….take your time, okay? Like I said, there's no rush."

Mike took a deep break before starting again. "We put our guns away, well, at least I did, I'm not sure about Steve, he was behind me. We started to walk back to the front door when we heard this sound from the kitchen. It sounded like a rat skittering across the floor."

Mike gaze had drifted down from Haseejian's face and he was now staring unfocussed towards the foot of the bed. His already low voice got even quieter. "He was on the floor in front of the sink – the cupboard door was open…he must have been hiding in there. He looked like a teenager, a kid… he was almost naked and covered in…filth… his eyes were wild and he was grinning at us…" Mike almost shuddered.

"I think I was reaching for my gun when he shot me…I don't think I even saw the gun. It was like my shoulder exploded and I was slammed backwards…against the fridge I think…" He paused again and took another deep breath. "I remember sitting on the floor leaning against the fridge…my whole right side was numb but I could feel the blood soaking through my clothes…

"I must have blacked out or something 'cause the next thing I remember was hearing this horrendous racket coming from another room…thumps, like bodies being hit, this horrible screaming and Steve yelling and then gasping in pain… I knew I had to help him." He swallowed, breathing shallowly. Olsen leaned forward, as if to say something, then thought better of it and waited.

Mike took a deep breath and seemed to steady himself. "I, ah, I managed to get to my feet and down the hallway…I could feel the blood dripping from my fingers and that scared me…They were, ah, they were on the bed, the kid had a knife and Steve was trying to hold him off…Steve's face was covered in blood and I knew he was in real trouble," Mike's voice cracked slightly but he continued, "I, ah, I had my gun in my left hand – I knew I was losing consciousness - I leaned against the doorframe and I pulled the trigger… there was nothing else I could do except pray that I didn't hit Steve …" He stopped, his breaths now coming rapidly, still staring into nothingness.

Healey put a reassuring hand on Mike's left shoulder but didn't say anything. He looked up at Haseejian and they exchanged a quick look. After several long moments, Mike breaths became longer and deeper and he continued so quietly that they had to strain to hear him, "The kid, um, he seemed to fly off the bed so I knew I'd hit him…Steve looked at me, he looked so bad, then he started to crawl across the bed towards me…then, uh, I don't know how, but he got up, the kid, he got up and he still had the knife in his hand and he lunged at Steve and I shot again and he went down…"

Haseejian and Healey had stopped writing and froze, their eyes boring into the lieutenant's face. They resisted the urge to look at each other, knowing that Mike would most likely see them do it.

Mike continued to stare unfocussed at the foot of the bed. He didn't move. No one said a word as they waited, knowing he only had a little more to tell them. Very slowly his eyes seemed to focus and he looked up at Healey.

"I think I lost consciousness after that; I don't remember anything else." Mike looked slowly from Healey to Haseejian. "I killed him, didn't I? The kid?"

At Haseejian's commiserating nod, Mike closed his eyes and seemed to sink even deeper into the pillows.

Olsen, Haseejian and Healey looked at each other, at a loss. Eventually Olsen got up and approached the bed. "You didn't have a choice, Mike, it was either that kid or Steve. You did the right thing."

When there was no response, he turned briefly to the others, uneasy, then said a little louder than necessary, "Well, we've got all we need for now. You just rest." He patted Mike's left hand as he nodded towards the door, Healey and Haseejian preceding him out.

They walked to the waiting room in silence. Then Haseejian turned to Olsen. "Rudy, we may have a problem."

"What do you mean?"

Haseejian and Healey exchanged a glance before Healey said, "Look, we haven't gotten the complete autopsy report yet, or a toxicology report, but ballistics have already told us that both bullets in the kid were Mike's."

"Well, we kinda knew that already, what's this problem you're talking about?"

Healey glanced at Haseejian, who took the ball. "The first was into his chest from the kid's left side, and the second was straight into the heart through the sternum."

"Yeah, so?"

"Rudy, we found the knife _under_ the kid when we lifted him. If the kid had the knife in his hand when he was shot in the heart, there's no way it would've ended up under him when he fell back." He paused, glanced at Healey again then sheepishly back at Olsen. "We've been running through every possibility, we even borrowed some dummies from the lab to do a few simulations. There's no way the knife would have ended up under the kid if things went down the way Mike says they did," he finished almost apologetically.

Olsen hesitated for a second then growled with studied deliberateness. "So what you're trying to tell me is Mike put the second shot into a dead man? Why? Why would he do that? Rage? Vindictiveness? He was bleeding to death, for Christ sake, it doesn't make any sense!"

The two homicide detectives held their ground silently, fully aware the captain needed to vent his sudden fury. Realizing he was 'shooting the messenger', Olsen put his hands up and smiled with reluctant acquiescence. "I'm sorry, fellas, I shouldn't be taking this out on you, you're just doing your job. Look, ah, just keep this under your hats for now, okay, until you can talk to Steve and hear what he has to say. I mean, after all, he was in the room as well and even though he was no doubt in a lot of pain, he didn't pass out like Mike did. When are you going to get a chance to talk to him?"

Haseejian brightened. "He's doing a lot better but he still can't talk to us yet, what with the broken jaw, until the swelling goes down some more. They're moving him into a private room tomorrow morning, so we're gonna see him tomorrow afternoon. He asked us for a typewriter," he said with a chuckle. "He said he can type faster than he can write. It might end up being the world's most labor-intensive interview, but he's well enough to go through it, he says."

"Well, don't read me wrong on this, fellas, but just make sure you talk to Steve before he and Mike get to see each other."

Both Haseejian and Healey looked at the captain with barely concealed shock.

"It's not what you're thinking," Olsen said quickly. "I'm not implying that Mike and he would collude on a cover story." When neither detective relaxed, he continued firmly, "I just want to make sure all our ducks, and I meant _all_ our ducks are in a row and everything is above board. If, for any reason whatsoever, there are legal or disciplinary complications stemming from this down the road, I want to be absolutely sure we've done everything we could possibly do to ensure that we went by the book on this one. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," they mumbled, recognizing that Olsen was right but loath to acknowledge the truth behind the words.

Olsen glanced at his watch. "Look, it's been a hell of a couple of days. Why don't you both go home and get a good night's sleep and start again with fresh eyes tomorrow, okay?"

Haseejian glanced at Healey before nodding. "I think that's a good idea, sir. Listen, ah, can we give you a lift downtown?"

"Don't worry about it," Olsen said kindly, "I have my car here. Besides, I'm gonna go back in and check on both of them, just to make sure, you know…"

Healey smiled at the badly hidden affection in the captain's voice. "If either of them is awake, give 'em our best, okay?"

"Will do."

Haseejian and Healey watched as the older man walked back across the waiting room towards ICU. They turned to each other with concerned looks, then silently the two worried, heavy-hearted sergeants headed for the exit.


	6. Chapter 6

"Wow, well, we can see your eyes now at least," Haseejian chuckled as he approached the bed, dropping a heavy briefcase on the floor as Healey came through the door with an IBM Selectric in his arms.

Though his face was still swollen, the puffiness around his eyes had begun to recede and Steve was starting to look familiar again. The left side of his face was one purple, painful-looking bruise, his nose was still bandaged and his jaw swollen, but there was a light back in his eyes that was a relief to see.

As Healey set the typewriter on the bed table and started to look around for an electrical outlet, Steve thrust a notepad in Haseejian's direction. The sergeant took the pad and read aloud, " _Have you seen Mike? How's_ _he_ _doing?_ "

Haseejian looked up with a grin. "He's doing great, don't worry about him. I just saw him this morning and they _may_ be letting him out tomorrow. You haven't seen him yet?" he asked, seemingly in all innocence. Both he and Healey knew the partners hadn't been allowed to be together; the hospital staff had been told that they were to be kept apart until the police department gave them the go-ahead.

Steve shook his head slightly, then took the pad and wrote, _Except in a mirror._ Haseejian chuckled and showed the pad to Healey. The sergeants were unhappy that this measure had to be taken, but because of the many still unanswered questions, they fully realized the complications that could develop down the line.

"Well, I think we can arrange for you to see him after we're finished here," Haseejian said encouragingly. "He's still in ICU but because you've been moved up here, I've been told we can put you in a wheelchair and take you down there. How does that sound?"

Steve's eyes brightened even more, but he grabbed the pad back from Haseejian again, scribbled on it furiously and handed it back.

" _Can he go home alone?"_ Haseejian read, then looked up and smiled. "Don't worry, he's not going 'home' home. He's going to stay at Rudy's till he's strong enough. We've got this all covered, don't worry. You're not the only one who can baby-sit him, you know," he finished with a chuckle.

Steve relaxed and sat back, and Healey thought he could see a twinkle in the inspector's eyes as he swung the rolling table over the bed. He had inserted paper into the feed roller and now he positioned the typewriter for easy access. There was a stack of fresh white bond on the table as well as an extra ribbon cartridge.

"So," Haseejian said vigorously, "shall we begin? I'll tell you what we'll do. You know what we need, so why don't you start and go at it for as long as you can. Dan and I will go get a coffee and when we get back, we'll start to read what you've written… and if we have any questions, we'll keep them till you're finished and ask them then. How does that sound?"

Steve nodded.

"All right, so, go for it," Haseejian gestured towards the typewriter, chuckling as he and Healey left the room and closed the door.

# # # # #

A half hour later the two detectives strolled back into the room. Steve was still typing furiously, but he glanced up as they came in and indicated a small pile of typed pages lying on the bed. With an impressed smile, Haseejian picked up the pages, thankfully noting that Steve had helpfully typed numbers at the top, re-ordered them and sat down to read.

Healey waited patiently till Haseejian finished the first page and handed it over.

" _Mike and I were at a house nearby, trying to locate a witness to our case, when this young guy comes up to us and asks if we're cops. He had two suitcases and he looked pissed off. He told us his neighbor was a junkie and was always creating a disturbance. It was usually just screaming and throwing things but that day he seemed to have a gun. He said he was sitting in his living room and a bullet came through the wall and almost hit him so he packed up and moved out. (I can't blame him!)_

 _Mike and I drove over there – it was a real dive, as you probably saw, and there was nobody around that we could find. We went up to the apartment on the second floor and the door was open so we went in. Mike identified us and we both had our weapons out._

 _We did a sweep of the entire apartment and there was no-one there, but we did see the bullet holes in the bedroom walls, the drug paraphernalia lying around. But there was no perp._

 _We started to walk back to the door – I think it was Mike's intention to just call in for a black-and-white to follow-up. Mike had put his gun away and I was just starting to do the same when we heard this noise from the kitchen. I was behind him so I was still in the hallway when he stepped through the doorway into the kitchen._

 _I heard Mike catch his breath and almost the same time I heard the shot. I saw the spray of blood and heard him hit the fridge. He went down quickly. I ran down the hallway to the other kitchen door so I could get behind the shooter – I didn't know if he'd know if I was even there._

 _I stepped through the doorway gun first, but the shooter was already scrambling past Mike and out the other door on his hands and knees. He was moving incredibly fast. I only had time to glance at Mike but I could see he was bleeding profusely._

 _I hesitated at the kitchen doorway because I knew the shooter still had the gun. There was no sound, and I didn't know where he was, and when I looked around the doorframe into the hallway, he was at the entrance to the back room and he leveled his gun at me and fired, but it was empty and it just clicked._

 _He turned and ran into the bedroom behind him and I took off after him, holstering my gun because he now seemed to be unarmed. He was diving behind the bed when I got to the bedroom, growling and screaming the whole time. He appeared crazed, like he was on something and having a very bad trip._

 _I circled the bed to come up behind him, he was reaching under the bed and I wanted to get to him before he found whatever it was he was looking for. I was too late. He sat back, turned and lunged at me with a large knife. He caught me across the left upper arm. It hurt like hell but I knew I couldn't let him beat me. I grabbed both his wrists and tried to hold him away from me but he was incredibly strong._

 _That was when he head-butted me the first time. He got me on the nose and the pain was blinding. I thought I was going to lose consciousness but I knew both mine and Mike's lives were in the balance if I didn't keep control._

 _The next few seconds are still a blur. I remember we somehow struggled onto the bed and he head-butted me a couple more times. I was getting very groggy and there was blood in my eyes; I was having a hard time seeing and I felt I was going to lose the battle._

 _He was on top of me on the bed and trying to drive the knife into me and I was getting weaker. He did managed to force the knife into my chest a little bit and that pain seemed to restore some strength and I pushed him a little further away._

 _I'm not even sure if I heard the shot, it was liked he was propelled off me by some outside force or something. Suddenly there was no-one on top of me anymore. I remember lying there for a second or two, trying to figure out what happened. There was blood all over my shirt and jacket but I knew most of it wasn't mine._

 _I looked over at the door and I couldn't believe Mike was standing there. He looked god-awful. He was leaning against the doorframe, covered in blood, he looked like he was gonna pass out and he was holding his gun in his left hand._

 _He was looking beyond the bed, like over my shoulder, and then he looked at me, and it seemed like he was in shock. I think I started to crawl across the bed towards him and then I saw his eyes flash back over my shoulder and he fired again. I think I felt the bullet go past my ear. I'm sure I ducked instinctively because I remember I was flat on the bed, and I turned and looked over the side of the bed and the shooter was lying on his back, his eyes were open and there was a bullet hole in the center of his chest._

 _That's when I heard a thud and I looked back and Mike had fallen where he was standing. I got to him as fast as I could but my eyes were starting to swell shut and my head was spinning and I thought I was going to pass out too._

 _He looked so bad I didn't even take the time to see if he was still alive, I just knew I had to get out of there and down to the car so I could call for help. I don't remember much about getting out of the apartment and down the stairs. I know I fell a lot, maybe I kept passing out, I'm not sure._

 _I vaguely remember someone grabbing me at the foot of the stairs and then being on a gurney, but it's very fragmented._

When Steve had finished typing, he just sat there quietly, not looking at the others. Haseejian waited patiently for Healey to finish the final page. The two sergeants exchanged a look then Haseejian leaned forward slightly. He pointed towards the pages in Healey's hand. "Steve, that's amazing, you did a great job. It's a big help for us, thanks, and it, ah, it echoes pretty much everything that Mike can remember too." He glanced sideways at Healey. "There's a couple of questions we need to ask, if you think you're up to it?"

On Steve's nod, he took the sheets from Healey's hand and singled out the last one. Glancing at it, he continued, "You say at the end here, when Mike shot the guy the second time, that you saw Mike's eyes 'flash over your shoulder'. Did you see or hear the other guy getting up and coming after you again?"

Steve picked up the notebook and pen and when he finished writing, handed it over. _No, nothing, but I wasn't thinking or hearing straight from all the pain. He certainly could have._

"Okay," Haseejian nodded. "And when you looked over the side of the bed and the guy was lying there dead, do you remember seeing the knife anywhere around his body?"

Steve thought about for several seconds then shook his head. He gestured for the pad and Haseejian handed it back. He wrote, _I really don't remember. It could have been there and I just didn't see it. Why?_

Haseejian shook his head, "Just filling in details," he said, hoping his answer didn't sound as lame to Steve as it did to himself and Healey. He nodded at his colleague, who got up and exited into the corridor. "Listen, Steve, this is great, thanks. Dan and I should have this wrapped up really soon," he said with more optimism in his voice than he felt. He had hoped that Steve's account of the shooting would shed more light on the situation. Instead it had just seemed to muddy the waters.

There was a banging at the door and Healey backed into the room with a wheelchair. Haseejian looked at Steve with a warm smile. "What do you say we go see Mike?"

# # # # #

Haseejian pushed the wheelchair through the swinging doors of the ICU then up to the open entrance of the cubicle he had spent so much time in lately, it seemed.

When they got to the doorway, Steve's eyes fell upon the occupant of the bed and he waved the wheelchair to a halt and started to get to his feet; Haseejian helped with a hand on his elbow.

Mike was lying back on the half-raised bed, his eyes closed. He was still unnaturally pale, but the only hospital equipment he was still attached to was the heart monitor, which beeped with encouraging regularity. As Steve got closer to the bed, he could see the barest outlines of the bandage covering Mike's right shoulder under the pale blue hospital gown. And his right arm was still encased in a dark blue sling secured across his chest.

As Haseejian watched, a smiling Steve reached out and gently laid his right hand on the side of Mike's face. The blue eyes opened slowly but as they quickly focused grew wide with surprise. And even from across the room there was no mistaking the tears of joy that sprang into his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Mike's eyes were bright with tears as he stared at his battered partner. It took several seconds until he could get control of his voice. "Are you okay?" he whispered, "You look terrible."

Still smiling, Steve pulled his lips away from his teeth, revealing the wires the held his jaw together. Mike caught his breath, and closed his eyes briefly, unsettled. When he looked at Steve again, his expression reflected just how deeply affected he was by the damage that had been done to his young friend.

Steve put a hand lightly on Mike's chest then raised his forefinger in a 'wait' gesture. He picked up the pad and pen he had brought with him, wrote something then held the pad up for Mike to read. _I'm okay. This is all superficial. I'm gonna be just fine._ He smiled as broadly as he could then winked.

Mike stared at him for several seconds then began to smile. "So this is how we're gonna have to talk to each other for the next little while, hunh?" he asked lightly. Steve nodded and began to write again. Mike sighed then chuckled, "Great. It's like waiting for a translation at the U.N."

Steve held up the pad again. _The doctors said I can start talking tomorrow._ He grinned and bobbed his eyebrows, gratified to hear Mike laugh.

With a happy snort, Steve sat on the edge of the bed, once more resting his hand lightly on his partner's chest. He nodded at Mike's right shoulder.

"I'm okay," the older man smiled reassuringly. "They told me I lost a lot of blood, but I got it all back now – well, not mine, of course - and they're gonna let me out of here maybe tomorrow." His smile disappeared as he paused and they stared at each other, remembering. "We were lucky."

Steve nodded, then he picked up the pad and wrote again. _When did you get to be such a good shot with your left hand?_

Mike chuckled mirthlessly. "What is it you young people say? 'Necessity's a mother'?" His stare turned inward. He took a deep breath then looked up at Steve almost sheepishly. "I just couldn't let him, you know…" He felt a slight increase in the pressure of Steve's hand on his chest. After swallowing hard, he managed a wry smile. "I probably couldn't do that again in my life… but I'm sure glad I did it then."

Smiling, Steve wrote _Me too._ With an affectionate chuckle, Mike reached up with his left hand and gently touched his partner's battered face.

# # # # #

Olsen closed his office door and circled the desk to sit. "Okay, gentlemen, fill me in. What have you got?"

Haseejian took a deep breath, glanced at Healey, then sat forward. "Well, Captain, everything we know about what happened from both Mike and Steve completely jibes right up until the last few minutes, but before we get to that." He flipped open the file in his lap. "We finally got an I.D. on our 'victim'," he paused, realizing he was having a hard time keeping the contempt out of his voice when he said the word, "a known junkie and all-around scumbag named Charles Washington Pettet." He held out a mugshot for Olsen to see.

"He has a record, of course, mostly petty stuff – possession, disturbing the peace, squatting, simple assault but, unfortunately, nothing involving the use of a firearm. And he's been hospitalized twice in the past six months for over-dosing."

Healey took over, reading from another file. "Amongst the drug paraphernalia we found in his apartment were traces of cocaine, heroin and something called Phencyclidine," he sounded it out slowly then glanced up into Olsen's questioning eyes. "It's known on the street as PCP. According to the lab boys, it can cause 'paranoia, hallucinations and a desensitization to pain'. Some say it can even cause someone to have 'superhuman strength'." He finished with a shrug.

Haseejian took up again. "We tracked down the caller who reported 'shots fired'. It was this guy who lived down the block. Seems that the occasional gunshot or two in that area is not unusual, and no one called after the first series of shots – the five into the walls of the bedroom – but after the second group of shots were heard – which would be the one that hit Mike and then his two into Pettet – this guy thought he should call the cops. And that would be the call that Madsen and McKinley responded to."

"Ballistics confirmed that the only fingerprints on the Magnum were Pettet's and the only fingerprints on the .38 were Mike's," Healey continued. "All five shots from the bedroom walls were recovered, including the one that went through into the neighbours living room, and we even found the slug in the kitchen wall – it was under a shelf - the one that hit Mike.

"And we finally have the autopsy report." Healey pulled the papers out from the back of the file. "The toxicology report isn't done yet – it'll still take a couple of days – but it does help us with one question we had. Turns out the first bullet that hit Pettet, the one in his left side, entered at such an angle that it went above and behind his heart and wasn't immediately fatal. The second shot, the one in the sternum, was the kill shot." Healey looked up, and both he and Haseejian met Olsen's eyes evenly.

"That helps to explain some things, but not everything," Haseejian picked up the thread. "It means that Pettet wasn't killed outright with that first shot, and it is possible that in his 'altered state' that he was able to get up and make a second attempt to attack Steve – however, it doesn't explain how, falling backwards after that second shot, the knife managed to end up _under_ him." He paused and took a deep, frustrated breath. "We still have a huge problem with that, Captain."

Olsen stared at his detectives noncommittally, but they knew he was running through options. "And Steve doesn't remember anything about that?"

"No, sir," Haseejian shook his head, "he said that all he saw was Mike look past him and then the shot. He remembers looking over the side of the bed to see Pettet laying dead on the floor, but he doesn't remember seeing a knife anywhere near the body. Now that doesn't mean there wasn't one, but it doesn't help us any. And the fact that the knife was found _under_ Pettet when his body was lifted, well…"

"So," Olsen began slowly, "what you're implying is that Mike shot an unarmed man?"

"Well," Healey dragged out his words, not wanting to give voice to the nagging worry that was plaguing them all, "to be fair, he was bleeding out, seconds away from unconsciousness, his partner had just been attacked and stabbed and Pettet had a knife is his hand when he went down… doesn't it seem likely that when Pettet managed to get back on his feet, that Mike _would think_ he still had the knife in his hand, whether he did or not? I mean, isn't that almost the textbook definition of 'mitigating circumstances'?"

The three cops stared at each other in silence, weighing Healey's words. Finally Olsen sat back and sighed. "Okay, guys, let me call Gerry O'Brien and I'll ask him to get in touch with you. I want you to run all this past him and see what he thinks, and then we'll go from there, alright?" As he stood, he shook his head sadly, "I really hope we're just over-thinking this but we gotta make sure that we do everything in our power to make sure Mike doesn't pay for this anymore than he already has. But," he added with emphasis, "nothing gets swept under the carpet and nothing gets suppressed, do you understand what I'm saying?"

Both sergeants nodded as they got to their feet as well. "And if he says we don't have enough to go with 'self-defence' or 'justifiable homicide'?" Haseejian asked.

Olsen looked at him sharply, then deflated, shrugging sadly. "Let's, ah, let's cross that bridge if and when we come to it."


	8. Chapter 8

Steve was jolted awake from his light sleep by the sound of someone trying, not quite successfully, to quietly push open his hospital room door. He opened his eyes to see Rudy Olsen backing into the room and pulling a wheelchair through the doorway. As the captain began to turn the wheelchair, he announced, "I thought you two needed to see each other before we left."

As the chair swung around, a grinning Mike Stone, dressed in khakis, a light blue shirt, sports coat and fedora, came into view. His right arm was still in a sling, the empty sleeve of his sports coat hanging loosely.

Steve's eyebrows climbed into his hair and, smiling as best he could, managed a somewhat muffled, "Hey, they're letting you out of here?"

"Yep, I'm gonna go home with Rudy for a few days," Mike nodded, glancing over his shoulder at his old friend. "Have they told you yet when you can get out?"

"Not yet, but the face bone specialist guy there…the maxilo-" he shrugged, not remembering the unwieldy title. Mike pointed to his own cheekbone and Steve chuckled. "Yeah, that guy. Anyway, he's coming to see me again today. So who knows?"

"How are you feeling?" Olsen asked.

"A little less like a boxer after a title fight, and a little more like Michael Corleone," Steve chuckled through his clenched teeth and both older men laughed, relieved that their young colleague was feeling well enough now to joke about his plight.

"Look, ah, we got a car waiting for us out front so we better go," Mike explained apologetically, "but if you're still here tomorrow I'm gonna try to get in to see you, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Steve said quickly, trying to reassure his partner, "I'm doing fine, don't worry about me. Take care of yourself and come and see me when you can."

Mike reached out and they quickly clasped hands for a moment. Then with a knowing wink at Steve, Olsen turned the wheelchair and he and Mike left the room.

# # # # #

"Sorry I'm late, fellas, I just dropped Mike off at my place. Marie is in seventh heaven; even since the kids went off to college, she's been dying to mother someone, and now she's got her chance," he joked as he closed his office door and took his seat behind the desk. He sighed with a chuckle, "Poor Mike."

He leaned over his desk. "So," he said, looking from Healey to Haseejian, "what did Gerry tell you."

Haseejian grinned. "Bottom line – Mike's got nothing to worry about."

Looking a little shocked, Olsen looked from one sergeant to the other, but they were both nodding and smiling. "Seriously?"

Healey nodded even more vigorously. "Yep, he said from everything that we told him, and from reading all the reports and looking at all the photos, it was definitely 'mitigating circumstances' and that, as far as he and the D.A.'s office were concerned, the case needed no further investigation."

"Wow," Olsen said slowly, "well, that's the best news we could've received, isn't it? I have to admit, part of me was thinking that maybe…I don't know…" He stopped, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the uncomfortable implications. He looked at the two detectives.

"You guys have done yeoman's work on this case, you really have. Congratulations. The entire department owes you a debt of gratitude –"

"Are you kidding?" Haseejian interrupted gently with a grin, "This was Mike and Steve we're talking about here, you know… I'm just glad it's turned out the way it has." Healey nodded his accord.

Olsen smiled warmly. "Agreed." He stood. "Look, I think Mike and Steve should be given the good news as soon as possible, and in person. Why don't you guys go to my place and talk to Mike then head over to the hospital and see Steve, and then take the rest of the day off. You guys deserve it."

# # # # #

Olsen sighed heavily as he strode down the hospital corridor. The last twenty-four hours had started off so amazingly well: he had taken a quickly recovering Mike Stone to his house for several days of recuperation under his wife's watchful eye; he had received word that the D.A.'s office had decided against further investigation of the shooting, and Steve Keller had learned that his injuries were not as bad as originally diagnosed. Even though he would need surgery on his nose once the swelling completely disappeared, he was going to be released tomorrow.

Mike had taken a cab to the hospital to visit his partner and Olsen was now coming to pick him up. But what should have been a pleasant task for the police captain was suddenly going to become, because of a phone call he had received an hour before, one of the most difficult conversations he would ever have.

He paused briefly outside the door, inhaled deeply then knocked. He could barely hear Steve's "Come in" and he opened the door slowly and quietly. Steve was sitting up in bed, and he met Olsen's curious stare with upraised eyebrows, a grin and a nod behind the door.

Olsen followed Steve's nod and stopped, then chuckled. Mike was sitting sideways in a large leather armchair, his left arm and side of his head against the back of the chair, he legs over one arm, looking for all the world like a very large ten-year-old. He was sound asleep.

Olsen tiptoed closer to the bed, unable to resist a smile.

"He fell asleep about a half hour ago and I haven't had the heart to wake him," Steve whispered through clenched teeth. He glanced up at the captain and froze, his smile disappearing. "Is something wrong?"

Sighing heavily once more, Olsen met Steve's eyes evenly. "Look, Steve, there's something I have to talk to you and Mike about. It's, ah, it's very important, and it can't wait."

Steve said nothing as Olsen walked over to the armchair and laid a hand gently on Mike's right knee, staying well away from his injured shoulder. Mike jerked awake, winced, then turned slowly and carefully in the chair, lowering his legs to the floor. He looked up, surprised to see Olsen standing there. He ran his left hand across the back of his neck. "Whoa, I guess I fell asleep, huh?" he said with a chuckle.

"Mike, ah, listen, there's something I have to talk to you and Steve about," Olsen began without preamble, and Mike's smile quickly disappeared, replaced with a wary apprehension. He exchanged a worried look with his partner.

"What's going on, Rudy?" Mike got slowly to his feet and crossed to the bed, somehow knowing he wanted to be closer to Steve to hear what the captain had to say.

Olsen sank slowly into the armchair as Mike sat on the edge of Steve's bed. The partners watched their boss as he looked down at the floor for several seconds then raised his head.

"A little over an hour ago, I got a call from Internal Affairs. They told me a witness has come forward to the shooting the other day."

"A witness?" Mike said quietly, glancing at Steve. "That's impossible. There was no one else in that apartment but us."

Olsen nodded in agreement. "Not in the apartment, across the alley. Did either of you notice a curtainless window in the bedroom? Well, this witness says that he saw everything that happened in the bedroom." Olsen looked at Steve. "He gave an account of what went on in the bedroom between you and Pettet that matches up with yours, Steve, action for action." Olsen looked at Mike. "From the angle of his window, he said he couldn't see you in the doorway, but he heard the shot and saw Pettet fall. He said it was obvious that Pettet was out of control and was going to kill the man on the bed if he had the chance." He stopped and dropped his eyes.

"Well, if he's corroborating what we reported - what happened - then what's the problem?" Mike asked and Steve agreed with a questioning grunt.

Olsen looked up reluctantly and met his friend's eyes unwaveringly. "Your second shot, Mike. He's saying that when Pettet got back up, and he does say he got back up, the knife was gone and that he was holding up his arms in surrender. And that you shot him anyway."


	9. Chapter 9

"What?" Mike asked, almost breathlessly. He could feel the supportive squeeze of Steve's hand on his left forearm.

Olsen cleared his throat then said a little louder, "He said Pettet's hands were raised like he was surrendering and he didn't have the knife…and that you shot him anyway…"

A tense silence filled the room. Mike was glaring at Rudy, who was meeting the intense scrutiny with sympathetic eyes. Steve could feel the muscles in Mike's forearm tense, and though he was staring at his partner's profile, he knew Mike had clenched his fist. No one moved.

Finally Olsen took an audible breath and glanced away, breaking the stalemate. "Look, for what it's worth, I don't know - I'm not a hundred percent convinced that we can believe this guy carte blanche, if you know what I mean,so, just so you know, even though IA will be conducting their own investigation of course, I am going to authorize a couple of our guys, probably Norm and Dan - who already are the best informed cops working on this - to dig into everything about this guy to find out if anything is hinky."

As Olsen spoke, Steve could feel Mike relax a bit. The older man's ramrod straight posture had eased and he slumped slightly where he sat on the edge of the bed. Steve tightened his grip.

Olsen got slowly to his feet. "Look, ah, I'm gonna head over to the office and talk to the boys. Why don't you hang around here for a little while longer, Mike, and I'll give you a call when I'm gonna go home and I'll swing by here and pick you up. Or, if you want to leave sooner, grab a cab. Is that okay?" He had reasoned, correctly, that what his old friend needed right now was not the superficial comfort he would receive from well-meaning but ultimately uninvolved colleagues, but the genuine unwavering support he could only get from his partner.

Mike nodded slowly, like he was coming out of a trance. "Yeah, ah, thanks, Rudy." He slid off the bed as Olsen approached, and they shook hands.

Olsen glanced towards the head of the bed. "Steve, you take care, and I'll see you soon. Mike, I'll see you at home." And he turned and left the room without looking back.

Silently, Mike sat back down on the bed, looking dazed and suddenly overwhelmed. Steve gave him a few seconds before he said, "For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I don't believe him."

Mike turned slowly towards his partner and a small affectionate smile brightened his face. "You were looking at me," he said kindly, "you didn't see Pettet." The smile disappeared. "Steve, what if he was right? What if Pettet didn't have the knife?"

Steve sighed as loudly as he could through his broken nose. "You saw the knife, right?... Right?" he reiterated louder when Mike didn't respond immediately. When the older detective nodded, he said warmly, "Then I believe you, and so will everybody else."

Smiling self-consciously, Mike replied with uncertainty now lacing his voice. "But I couldn't even see straight by then, I was dizzy and passed out right after… maybe I _was_ wrong… Maybe he _was_ surrendering…" He started to get up; Steve reached for his arm but he was already too far away. He turned to face the bed.

"Look," he said quietly, "I'm getting a little tired, I think I'll go home. I'll find out when they're letting you out tomorrow. See you then." With what looked like bone-weary sadness he started towards the door.

"Mike," Steve called, and the older man turned back, "you okay?"

With a sad smile, Mike nodded then continued towards the exit, opening the door and disappearing from sight without a backward glance.

Steve leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes in anger and frustration. After several seconds, he sat up and reached for the phone on the bedside table.

# # # # #

"Okay, fellas, this one's gonna be a sonofabitch. We're gonna have to prove that Mike, in his debilitated state – losing blood at a near-fatal rate, having to shoot with his left hand at a PCP-crazed subject who was attempting to stab his partner while they were grappling on a bed – was cognizant enough to see the knife in the perp's hand in a split second before firing a kill shot."

Olsen looked from Haseejian to Healey, who were once more seated before his desk. He took a deep breath before asking, "Do either of you think Mike shot an unarmed man? And I want honest answers here, not what you want to be true but what you actually think to be true."

The sergeants glanced at each other then turned back. Haseejian cleared his throat. "Look, Captain, you know we were all a little shocked, pleasantly so don't get me wrong, when Gerry said we didn't have to worry about anything, and deep down in my heart, I know that Mike would never deliberately shoot an unarmed man, but… well, I don't know about Dan," he looked briefly at Healey, "but I have had niggling doubts.

"Like we said before, he was seconds away from unconsciousness, he was bleeding out, he had to have been in incredible pain, he'd just seen his partner stabbed by this little out-of-control psycho and he was shooting with his left hand – I'm surprised he could even get a second shot off let alone put it dead center of the kid's chest. But seeing a knife in the kid's hand – that's gonna be a hard one to prove," he finished morosely.

Olsen nodded soberly then turned to Healey. "Dan?"

Healey took a deep breath before starting quietly. "I agree with Norm, it's been wishful thinking on our part till now, and I honestly thought we'd 'dodged a bullet', so to speak, when Gerry said everything was hunky-dory. But now, with this guy's statement, I just don't know."

Olsen sat silently for a few seconds, looking down, then he slapped his palms lightly on the table. "Good. Good," he said with suddenly renewed vigor as he looked up and met their somewhat startled expressions. "That's just the open-mindedness we need right now. I want you two to head up your own investigation into this witness. Find out everything you can about him – why it took him so long to come forward, where he was when you did your sweep just after the shooting, who he is from his background to his political leanings to the toothpaste he uses. I want to know everything.

"My cop instinct is telling me that there's something fishy going on here and I want to know if I'm right. So I want you guys to work fast and I want you to use every weapon in your arsenal and if, when you think you've uncovered everything you can about this guy and things still seem to be on the up-and-up, then we'll begin to deal with the fall-out. But until then, I want you two to proceed on the premise that he's got an agenda and Mike is in the right. IA's angle is going to be the polar opposite, of course, and I want us to be on Mike's side until every possibility has been exhausted.

"Am I understood?" Olsen asked as he sat back and studied his two sergeants.

Haseejian and Healey exchanged another look, but this time they both turned back to the captain with smiles on their faces.

"Absolutely, sir," said Haseejian with what sounded suspiciously like glee in his voice.

# # # # #

The knock on the door and the simultaneously ringing of the doorbell brought him quickly out of his reverie. He was suddenly aware that the sun had gone down and the room was eerily dark.

He had been sitting in the armchair in his living room for the past several hours, almost unable to move, numb and heartsick. When he had left the hospital, he had stood on the curb lost in thought; when he finally climbed into the back of a cab, he asked to be taken home. The idea of having to face someone was just too overwhelming; he needed to be alone.

Now, wincing slightly, he carefully got to his feet and crossed to his front door, turning on a lamp on the way. He snapped on the porch light, then opened the heavy front door without checking the peephole, something he knew he shouldn't do but too depressed to care right now.

He took an involuntary step back as his eyes fell on the grinning faces of his two sergeants, immediately noticing the large pizza box that Healey held in his hands.

Haseejian chuckled. "Hi, Boss. Um, special delivery," he announced somewhat louder than necessary, then both he and Healey took a sideways step, and out from behind them appeared a smiling Steve Keller.


	10. Chapter 10

Despite everything he was feeling, Mike couldn't stop smiling as he took a step back to allow his bruised and battered partner and the two sergeants to enter the house. As he closed the door behind them, Haseejian and Healey disappeared into the kitchen, with the Armenian calling over his shoulder, "You two relax, we'll find everything we need."

Steve crossed to the couch. "Your dinner," he announced with a nod towards the kitchen, "and mine", holding up the large paper bag in his left hand. He set the bag down on the coffee table. He'd already tossed an overnight bag onto the first step of the staircase to the second floor, an action not lost on the older man.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I gave Marie a call and asked her to let me know if you made it back to their place. After about an hour, I called her again, and when she said you hadn't shown up, I kinda figured you came here." Wincing, a hand on top of his head, he sat on the couch, while Mike returned to the armchair. "How are you doing?"

Mike shrugged, then grimaced and put his left hand on his right shoulder. "Damn it," he said with a quiet chuckle, "I forgot I can't do that." He stared at the younger man.

"I thought you weren't getting out till tomorrow?"

Steve grinned as best he could. "You gotta know by now how persuasive I can be. All I had to do was promise the doctor that I would take it easy." His grin wavered slightly. "I just didn't want you to be alone tonight," he said quietly, then was relieved when Haseejian and Healey came back into the room with plates, cutlery, napkins and the pizza.

Mike held his gaze until the items had been placed on the coffee table and Haseejian's booming voice invaded the lengthening silence. "So what does everyone want to drink? We have Tab, ginger ale, root beer and a couple of milkshakes, but I think those are reserved for 'Metal Mouth' over there."

Mike and Healey chuckled as Steve shot Haseejian a dirty look. "Ha ha," he retorted as sarcastically as he could through his clenched teeth. He fished a bottle of aspirin out of his jacket pocket and took one of the milkshakes out of the paper bag. Catching Mike's concerned stare, he shook his head. "It's just a headache; they told me I'd have them for awhile but they're getting better. This one's not too bad." He was pleased to see the older man relax and nod in understanding.

"Your beverage of choice, sir?" Haseejian asked with feigned formality.

"Um, ginger ale, thanks," Mike ordered with a bemused smile. As much as he had wanted to be alone, he was more than grateful for this impromptu dinner party.

Haseejian and Healey left about an hour later. Though they didn't mention it, they headed back to Bryant Street to try to get in a couple hours work before calling it a day. They cleaned up as best they could before leaving, not wanting to burden their injured colleagues.

As the door closed behind them, Mike was sitting in the armchair and Steve was stretched out on the couch, his eyes closed. They were both thankful that the dinner conversation had managed to stay away from any mention of their current situation; instead they had talked mostly sports and politics.

Into the lengthening silence, Steve sighed, "It feels good to be out of the hospital."

Mike, his head back against the chair, smiled. "I'll second that."

After another silence, Steve said softly, "I'm sorry, with everything's that been going on, I forgot to thank you."

Mike's head came up from the chair, but he hesitated before asking softly, "Thank me for what?" He heard the younger man take a deep breath.

"For saving my life, for –"

"Don't," Mike cut him off. "Please… just … don't, please…" He was close enough to the couch that he reached out and put his left hand on Steve's right forearm and squeezed.

Steve laid a hand over Mike's and patted it lightly, feeling the tense muscles relax. Eventually he said softly, "Everything's going to be okay." Mike's grip tightened momentarily.

They sat that way in silence for a long time.

# # # # #

Steve glanced at the bedside clock. 8:48. He stretched carefully, grateful that he had managed to get a decent night's sleep. He got up slowly and made his way to the bathroom.

Finished, he headed back to Jeannie's bedroom, puzzled that he had not heard Mike up and about. His partner was always the early riser. He crossed to the master bedroom door and listened, then open the door quietly. The room was still dark and he tiptoed towards the bed.

Seeing Mike's eyes open, he sat on the side of the bed. "You didn't get any sleep, did you?" he whispered after several seconds.

Mike shook his head slightly, looking away. "No," he said quietly.

"Look, they gave me some sleeping pills and I didn't have to use one last night. I want you to take one. Neither of us is going anywhere today so you can sleep all day. Why don't you use the bathroom while I go get it?"

Without waiting for confirmation, he got up and left the room. When he returned a couple of minutes later with the pill and a glass of water, Mike was sitting on the side of the bed. Steve handed over the pill. "They said you only had to use the sling for five days so what's say we keep it on while you sleep and take it off when you wake up?"

Mike nodded after swallowing the water and putting the glass on the bedside table. He laid back down; Steve pulled the sheet up after the older man had gotten himself settled and closed his eyes.

With a sad smile, Steve sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Mike's left forearm gently while he waited for the pill to take effect.

# # # # #

It was shortly after four in the afternoon when Steve heard Mike coming down the stairs. He ambled out of the kitchen as the older man stepped off the final stair into the living room. He was fully dressed, his right arm no longer in the sling.

Steve smiled warmly. "How did you sleep?"

Mike smiled back, nodding. "Good, good. I really needed it. Thanks."

"How's the shoulder?"

Mike abstractedly reached up and put his left hand on his right shoulder. "A little stiff and sore but it's fine. I'll live," he added dryly, but Steve could still see the distracted, faraway look in his eyes.

"Listen, uh," Steve said energetically, "I hope you're hungry. I've been practicing my culinary skills. I have a big steak and a baked potato and green beans ready to go whenever you're ready. And, of course, a lovely avocado smoothie for myself," he finished with a cartoonish sigh and a wide smile.

Mike couldn't resist a chuckle as he followed the younger man into the kitchen.

"Where did you get all this?"

"I have friends too, you know," he snickered, parroting one of Mike's favourite phrases. "I gave Lee a call, asked him to pick some things up for me. Come on, have a seat while I do the cooking."

# # # # #

Haseejian sat at his desk in the dimly lit squad room and ran his hands over his tired face. With an exhausted sigh, he leaned back. A file in his hand, Healey came through the hallway door and up to the far side of the desk, dropping wearily into the second chair. He looked over at his colleague.

"You look how I feel," he said with a mirthless chuckle.

Haseejian managed a fatigued smile. They sat in silence for several long moments, then the Armenian detective sat up and slapped both hands on the desk. "Okay, this is what we're gonna do. We're gonna go through everything again, every single thing that we have on this guy, and make sure we haven't overlooked _anything_." He looked at Healey and smiled grimly. "And then, if we still can't find anything that changes what we already have, we take our findings to Rudy in the morning … agreed?"

Healey looked at his partner through tired, sad eyes. Then he nodded reluctantly.

# # # # #

Steve was sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper, when he thought he heard the doorbell ring over the metallic whirring sound of the blender; Mike was in the kitchen, making him a strawberry smoothie. He put the paper down and crossed to the door, opening it on a very defeated-looking Captain Olsen.

"Rudy, come on in," Steve said, stepping back into the room. As the captain entered, Steve called over his shoulder, "Mike, Rudy's here."

Mike came into the living room drying his hands on a towel. He too immediately noticed his old friend's serious demeanor. "What's going on?" he asked quietly, not bothering with meaningless salutations.

"Let's sit down," Olsen said gently and the three moved deeper into the room and sat, Mike in the armchair, Steve near him on the couch. Olsen perched on the other couch arm, took a deep breath, then looked at them both square on.

"For the past forty-eight hours, I've had Norm and Dan conducting their own investigation into this mysterious 'witness' that just popped up. They've done everything they could do in the past two days to find out everything they could possibly dig up on this guy, from his birthplace to his job history to his criminal record if he had one to his favorite ice cream. Anything to find some reason why this guy would be lying. They did a hell of a job."

Olsen stopped and took a deep breath. He shook his head reluctantly. "And there's nothing … they got nothing. So, this afternoon I took their findings to Gerry. IA had already been to see him." He stopped again, looked down and took another deep breath. When he raised his head, he met Mike's eyes evenly. "There's a Grand Jury convening next week. And he's taking this case to them."


	11. Chapter 11

Steve had walked Olsen down to his car. When he returned to the house, Mike was no longer in the living room. Steve locked the front door and turned the porch light off, then took the steps to the second floor two at a time.

Mike was in his bedroom. He'd taken his pajamas out of the bureau and was turning the covers down. Steve leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, and watched him for several seconds.

"Gonna go to bed?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk?"

"Not right now."

"Okay…. You know where I'll be, right?"

"Yeah."

Steve backed away from the doorway and headed down the hall. Mike turned and sat on the side of the bed, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. He didn't want to be so short with Steve but he just couldn't trust himself to be calm and rational right now.

He got up and crossed the room, snapping off the overhead light and closing the door. In the dark, still fully clothed, he laid on the bed. He placed his left hand over the still healing wound in his right shoulder, and closed his eyes.

# # # # #

Lying on the bed in Jeannie's room, Steve stared at the ceiling. He'd left the door open, hoping that he would hear Mike call his name, knowing that it wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Eventually he turned off the table lamp and closed his eyes, but sleep would prove elusive.

# # # # #

He glanced at the clock: 6:49. Sitting up carefully, trying not to aggravate the dull headache that he was almost getting used to, he quickly got dressed and left the room. The master bedroom door was still closed. He knocked lightly and entered at the same time, knowing he was taking a chance.

Mike was still laying on the bed, in the clothes he was wearing the night before, his eyes closed. As Steve approached, he opened his eyes.

"Good, you're awake," Steve said brightly. "Get up. Get yourself changed and pack a bag." He turned and started for the door.

"What?" came the low voice from the bed.

Steve stopped and looked back. "Rudy had a thought last night. He said it might be a good idea if you and I got away for a couple of days, you know – a change of scenery?" Mike had begun to sit up. "So we're going on a road trip. Um, you're gonna have to do the driving," he shrugged apologetically, "sorry about that. So, let's get ready and hit the road, shall we?"

Mike, whose initial irritation was beginning to dwindle the longer Steve talked, was almost smiling, realizing exactly what was happening here. The look of affection and appreciation that was now visible in his eyes made Steve turn away, self-conscious. As he stepped out into the hallway, he called over his shoulder, "Let's go – I want to hit the road as soon as we can."

"Where are we going?"

Steve stopped, and turned to lean back into view, grinning as wide as his wired jaw would allow. "I thought you'd have that figured out by now. Arizona, of course."

# # # # #

It was just before noon and they were on the I-5 on the way to Bakersfield. Steve glanced across the front seat once again and smiled. It was strange to see Mike behind the wheel of the Porsche, but he was getting used to the sight.

When they left Mike's house, in his blue sedan, Steve had requested a brief stop at his apartment to pick up a few things. When he came down the steps and tossed his overnight bag into the back of the Porsche, for a split second Mike thought they were going to take two cars.

Shaking his head and chuckling, Steve approached the sedan, took Mike's bag off the back seat and started walking towards the Porsche. "Michael, I love you dearly," he said with a smile, "but if you think we're going on a road trip in … that … instead of, well, the coolest car on the planet, you're sadly mistaken."

Now, on a gloriously sunny day, they were well on their way to Tucson, hopefully able to put some distance between themselves and the turbulence both behind them and to come. Steve knew Mike had not spoken to Jeannie since the 'incident', and he hoped that giving father and daughter some time together would be beneficial for everyone.

It was very late when they pulled into the parking lot of motel just outside Tucson. They had decided to wait until the next morning to let Jeannie know they were in town. They checked in and grabbed a quick meal in the small attached restaurant before retiring for the night.

Steve fell asleep quickly; even though he hadn't done any of the driving, his low-grade headache has been draining.

Mike, who was equally tired, couldn't get to sleep right away. He was trying to figure out what and how much to tell his daughter. He was loathe to tell her everything, like how unsure he was becoming about what he remembered, and how concerned he was that he was guilty of shooting an unarmed man. He lay on the motel room bed, staring at the ceiling; he didn't how long it took till he finally fell asleep.

# # # # #

The Porsche pulled up to the curb in front of a small apartment building. Steve glanced at his watch again. "So, if you're right and she doesn't have a class until 11, we're here in plenty of time."

They got out and entered the building. They climbed the staircase to the second floor and stopped in front of apartment number three. Mike glanced at Steve and took a deep breath before knocking.

"Coming!" they heard a female voice call from inside. Mike felt Steve's hand briefly touch his back in support.

The door swung open and a smiling Jeannie, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and shorts, appeared. She froze for a split second, then squealed and leapt forward into her father's arms. He took a startled half-step backward as she barreled into him and hugged him fiercely, and Steve saw his partner wince slightly through his grin.

Steve braced himself. She almost bounced off Mike towards him, so excited she hadn't even noticed that the younger man was not looking his best. He returned the tight hug then she pulled back to look at them again.

"What are you doing here?" she asked breathlessly then, finally noticing Steve's misshapen jaw, her smile disappeared. "Oh my god, Steve, are you okay? What happened? Is your jaw broken?"

Steve held his hands up and smiled as best he could. Her eyes widened when she saw the wires. "Jeannie, Jeannie, Jeannie, I'm fine, I'm okay. Think about it," he continued quickly, "would I be here if I wasn't?"

Jeannie looked to her father for confirmation. Mike smiled and nodded. "He's going to be okay, really."

Confused, Jeannie looked from her father to Steve. "Well, then, why are you two here? I mean, I'm really glad you are, but … is everything okay?"

"Sweetheart, everything's fine. We just want to take you out for breakfast. Do you have time before you have to be in class?"

She frowned, knowing her father was hiding something, but going along for now. She glanced at her watch. "Sure. I just have a civil engineering class this morning but I'm acing the course, so –"

"You are not going to skip a class, young lady," Mike said sternly, "not while I'm paying for your education." But there was a lightness in his tone that made them all smile.

"Yes, sir," she chuckled. "Just let me get my purse." She turned to go back into the apartment then looked back and squealed again, this time a little quieter. "I can't believe you guys are here!"

# # # # #

The waitress had just taken their order. Jeannie, sitting beside her father, turned her attention across the table. "All right, spill. What happened to your face?"

Steve glanced at Mike, then looked at her, smiling. "Your father and I got into a little 'altercation' about a week ago," he started, but before he could get any further, she turned quickly to her father.

"Mike, are you okay? Were you hurt too?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart, don't worry about me," he said calmly, not looking at Steve, who realized that in what he was saying, Mike was not actually lying to his daughter, just not giving her all the details.

She stared at him for several seconds then, seemingly satisfied, she turned her attention back across the table. "So what happened?"

Steve gave her the very sketchy, abbreviated details of what had happened, leaving out everything about Mike's injury, and even how badly he himself had ended up. When finished, it sounded no worse than a schoolyard dust-up. When he briefly met Mike's stare, he could see the appreciation in the blue eyes.

"So," Jeannie said slowly and they could hear the mischief in her voice, "you basically have a glass jaw, right?"

She looked with naughty doe-eyed innocence from Steve to her father, and was rewarded by Mike's chuckle and Steve's faux offended "Hey!" He pointed to his face. "This really hurts, you know," he whined dramatically and she rolled her eyes, then mimed playing a violin.

They were still laughing when the waitress showed up with their food and, after another comment from Jeannie about Steve's liquid breakfast, much to Mike's relief the talk turned to more mundane matters.

Jeannie left for her class and the men decided to spend the afternoon being tourists in Tucson, after making arrangements to meet again for dinner and spend the evening together. Steve watched his partner relax more and more as the day progressed, profoundly grateful to Olsen for making the suggestion in the first place.

Though Jeannie was still suspicious of the sudden unannounced appearance of her father and his partner, she had decided not to press the issue. Mike seemed as relaxed and happy as Steve, and she was thrilled with their unexpected company.

Early the next morning, the two detectives were back on the road towards home, hoping to make it one day. Thoughts of what they were returning to began to slip back into Mike's consciousness as they drove through the desert, and Steve could sense the slow, subtle change in mood.

They were halfway between Bakersfield and home when Mike turned and looked across the front seat. "Thanks," he said quietly.

Steve, who had been leaning back against the seat with his eyes closed, raised his head and glanced over through his dark glasses. "For what?"

"For the past couple of days," he said with a gentle smile. "I really needed that…"

"You're welcome…" Steve began slowly, "but it was really Rudy's idea."

"Rudy suggested we get away, you suggested Arizona," Mike said with finality.

With a grin and an accepting shrug, Steve leaned back against the seat again and closed his eyes. But he was beginning to worry too; he couldn't conceive of the prospect of losing Mike as his partner.


	12. Chapter 12

Putting the now-filled percolator on the counter and plugging it in, Steve crossed to the front door after hearing the knock. Tousle-haired and yawning, he opened the door to reveal a somewhat irritated-looking Rudy Olsen. Before he could begin a salutation, the captain barked, "Where the hell have you two been?" He brushed past the young inspector and into the living room.

"Good morning," Steve said quietly towards the now empty stoop and stepped back to slowly close the door.

Olsen had already crossed the room and was on his way back. "When I told you to maybe enjoy a change of scenery for a couple of days, I meant take a drive up to wine country, perhaps, not disappear for three days."

Steve had put his hands up to quiet the rather loud outburst, glancing up the stairs.

"We didn't 'disappear', Rudy, we went to Arizona –"

"Oh, great, across state lines!"

"- so Mike could see Jeannie," Steve finished pointedly.

Olsen began to interrupt again then stopped and closed his mouth. "Oh," he said quietly. "Did, ah, did it help?"

Relaxing, with a warm smile, Steve nodded. "Yeah, it really did. Look, ah, I'm just putting the coffee on, you wanna cup?"

With a somewhat less frustrated sigh, Olsen nodded. "Sure, why not? That was quite a trip you took so soon after…you know…" he continued, following Steve into the kitchen. "Are you both okay?"

Steve nodded as he took three mugs out of the cupboard. "We're a little worse for wear, and I'm gonna make sure he stays in bed most of the day, but mentally and emotionally it was the best thing we could have done."

"He's okay?" Olsen asked, frowning. He knew Mike was an early riser and had been concerned that he was not up and about.

Steve nodded again, grinning. "Don't worry, I checked on him. If you want to do the same, go on up." He saw Olsen glance towards the kitchen door but remain where he was. "So, anything happen while we were gone?"

Olsen relaxed and leaned against the counter. "Not too much; Norm and Dan are still working the case on their own. The three of us still think there's something not quite right there and the guys won't give up. They're doing it off the clock, of course; Dan took some vacation time and Norm's 'out with a cold'," he chuckled, pride in his voice. He saw Steve's smile of gratitude. "Anyway, I stopped by to let you know that Mike's PBA lawyer wants to see him this afternoon. Shall I tell him stop by around two?"

Steve thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded. "Yeah, he'll be up to it by then." He poured coffee into the mugs.

"You can drink coffee?" Olsen asked.

Steve looked up and smiled, reaching for the small cardboard box on the counter. "Yep," he said with a laugh as he pulled out a straw.

# # # # #

Mike's meeting with his PBA lawyer went as well as could be expected. Steve had left them alone in the living room after brewing a fresh pot of coffee, retreating up to Jeannie's room to read.

When he came down, the lawyer was gone and Mike was sitting in the armchair. He didn't look up when Steve crossed to the couch and sat.

"What did he say?" Steve asked quietly, and Mike shook himself slightly, turning to his partner with a small melancholy smile.

He cleared his throat slightly and looked away. "Well, he's trying to put a good face on it, but I can tell he thinks it's going to be an uphill battle. Basically, of course, it comes down to my word against _his_ , and even with my record, the fact that I was seconds away from unconsciousness and trying to save my partner," he glanced at Steve with a small self-conscious smile, "I may have _thought_ I saw a knife that really wasn't there."

When Steve started to interject, Mike held up a hand and continued, "He thinks that the prevailing opinion will be that, even under the circumstances, my training and experience is such that I should have recognized that the suspect was unarmed and therefore it was not necessary to shoot him the second time. So," he sighed, "at best I could be charged with 'excessive force' and at worst with 'criminally negligent homicide'."

Steve leaned forward and put a hand on Mike's knee. The older man looked at him and smiled, chuckling mirthlessly.

"So, if I lose this, I'm looking at demotion, suspension… I could be fired and lose my pension," he took a deep breath, "or I could go to prison." His eyes were bright with tears as he leaned back and brought a hand to his mouth, rubbing his fingers over his trembling lower lip.

# # # # #

Dan Healey put the two beers on the table then sat with a tired and frustrated sigh.

Norm Haseejian picked up one of the bottles and took a sip then rubbed a hand over his red-rimmed eyes. They sat in silence for several long moments.

"Goddamnit," Haseejian muttered under his breath, "I know we're missing something, I just feel it. Don't you?" he asked, looking up.

Healey nodded heavily. "Yeah, but, what else can we do, we've gone over everything again and again…"

"Then we go over it all again," Haseejian said with more anger in his voice than Healey thought he had ever heard. "Everything, every piece of evidence we have, everybody that was in that apartment or knew what happened in that apartment, absolutely every piece of information we have right now and can get our hands on between now and the grand jury in three days." He stared into Healey's eyes.

"I don't know about you, but I don't want to be working under someone else. And I am going to do everything in my power to see that that doesn't happen." He stopped, then smiled and chuckled. "Besides, I think my 'cold' just got a little worse and I need a little more time off. How many vacation days do you have left?"

Healey smiled affectionately. "More than enough, believe me."

"Let's finish these and get back to work," Haseejian said as they clinked beer bottles.

# # # # #

Steve was sitting on the bench outside the Grand Jury room as Olsen walked up and took a seat beside him. "How're ya doin'?" the captain asked in greeting.

Steve nodded. "Well, you know, looking forward to this about as much as I'd look forward to a lobotomy," he chuckled dryly.

"Yeah," Olsen agreed dourly. "How long has Mike been in there?"

Steve glanced at his watch. "Almost an hour. It's gonna be awhile longer, I'm betting. I'm next, and then Madsen and McKinley. And then it's – Mike and I don't even know this guy's name, Rudy," he complained.

Olsen grunted. "Yeah, well, we wanted to keep you two from trying to take on any of this on your own," he explained by way of an apology. "David Robert Abbott – that's the guy."

"Abbott, okay," Steve mumbled almost to himself, "well, at least I know _that_ now. I think he's scheduled for tomorrow morning, if they're through with the others by then." He chuckled, and Olsen looked at him curiously. Steve pointed to his face. "I'm hoping the Grand Jury'll take one look at me and take pity on us." When Olsen laughed, he continued, "I almost told Mike to show up this morning with his arm in the sling."

"How's he holding up?"

Steve sighed. "As well as can be expected, I guess. He seems to be staring at a glass half-empty, if you know what I mean. He's always been the optimist, but this time…" He shook his head. "He even has me rattled."

"As tough as all this has been for all of us, I can't imagine how hard it is for him," Olsen commiserated. He glanced at his watch. "I think I'll hang around and wait for him to finish. If it's around lunchtime, I'll take you both out to lunch, on me, and then you can come back. How does that sound?"

Steve nodded but cautioned, "Sounds good to me, Rudy, but I'm not sure Mike will be up for much company after he gets out of there."

# # # # #

At 1:10 in the afternoon, having been grilled by the D.A., lawyers and members of the grand jury for over four hours, Mike Stone emerged with a group of others into the corridor. His head was down and he was holding his fedora in his hands.

Steve and Olsen got to their feet and crossed through the crowd towards him. Mike was still looking down as they approached and Steve reached out to touch his arm and get his attention. He looked up and smiled faintly, his eyes dark and haunted.

"How'd it go?" Steve asked quietly.

Mike shrugged slightly. "You know, ah, I told them everything I remembered and they asked me questions, you know, typical grand jury stuff…"

Olsen cleared his throat. "Ah, Mike, before Steve goes in there I thought I'd take you two out to lunch…?"

Mike looked at his captain and his smile widened slightly, but he shook his head. "I appreciate that, Rudy, I really do, but I'd just like to go home right now if it's okay?" He looked back at Steve, his eyes suddenly moist, pleading.

"Sure, sure," Olsen said quickly. "I'll drive you." He reached for Mike's elbow, grasping it with a reassuring squeeze.

Mike looked at his partner. "Are you gonna be okay here… on your own?"

Steve's concerned look swiftly brightened and he nodded reassuringly. "Of course," he said with a chuckle, "I'll be fine. It's not like I haven't done this before." Suddenly, as if not even aware what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed Mike in a quick embrace. "It's gonna be okay," he whispered in Mike's ear as he held him close.

Mike pulled back and they looked at each other. Mike smiled gratefully then turned solemn and serious. "You be honest in there, right? You tell them exactly what you know happened, and nothing more, right?"

Steve nodded, and as he patted Mike's arm, the older man turned and walked away, his step heavy and burdened, like he was shouldering the weight of the world.

# # # # #

Steve put the mug of coffee on the table then retreated to the armchair. He picked up the chocolate milkshake that was sitting on the side table and took a long sip from the straw. He watched as Mike leaned forward slowly and picked up the mug but then just sat back, holding it in both hands.

Since he had returned to Mike's house after his grand jury appearance, they had hardly exchanged a dozen words. Mike had been sitting on the couch when he arrived, still in his suit pants, dress shirt and tie, and he had barely moved.

"Do you want something to eat?" Steve asked quietly. "You haven't had anything since breakfast, right?"

Mike finally looked up at him and smiled. "No, I, ah, I haven't. I am kinda hungry."

He was more grateful for Steve's presence than he was prepared to admit. "I'm sorry, I'm not the best of company tonight."

"Don't worry about it," said Steve as he got to his feet and headed towards the kitchen. "Let me see what we have for dinner. Do you want anything specific –"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door and the doorbell being rung simultaneously. He detoured to the front door and opened it, surprised to find Olsen, Healey and Haseejian standing there. They looked concerned and anxious.

He was about to say "Hi," when Olsen said quickly, "Are you both here?"

"Ah, yeah," Steve answered, confused, as he stepped back to let his colleagues into the house.

"Mike," Olsen greeted with a relieved but serious nod as the lieutenant got up from the couch, and the others did the same. As Steve closed the door, they moved further into the living room.

"What's going on, Rudy?" Mike asked, frowning.

"First things first, Mike, sorry," he turned back to Steve. "Did you come straight here when you left the Hall?"

Steve nodded as he crossed to stand nearer to Mike. "Yeah, why?"

"Mike, you've been here since Rudy dropped you off?" Haseejian asked.

"Yes," Mike said emphatically, "now what's going on?"

The three newcomers exchanged looks then Olsen cleared his throat and faced Mike and Steve. "We just got a call from IA. Sometime this afternoon, David Abbot disappeared."


	13. Chapter 13

Steve couldn't believe what he was hearing, and he managed a loud, angry snort even through his broken nose. "Am I hearing you correctly?" he said quickly, trying to keep his tone polite. "Abbott disappears and you think either me or Mike might have had something to do with it?"

Mike hadn't moved, but Steve instinctively knew that his partner was completely in agreement with him.

"Of course not!" Olsen shot back, offended at the implication, as Haseejian and Healey shifted uncomfortably. "We have to cover every base before we can continue, you know that." He stopped himself and took a deep breath. "Now let's everybody just relax so we can talk this through calmly and civilly, shall we?"

No one moved, then Mike took a small step back and gestured at the couch. As the three visitors took up positions on the thankfully large sofa, Mike sat in the armchair and Steve perched on its arm. "Now tell me what happened," he said coolly and evenly, and both Healey and Haseejian swallowed tiny grins – the boss was back.

Olsen glanced at the sergeants and Haseejian cleared his throat and sat forward. "That's just the thing, Mike, nobody knows what happened. The guys from IA went to Abbott's apartment this morning to pick him up and take him to the Hall, and not only was he not there, but his place had been cleared out. All his personal stuff - gone. Like he never even lived there."

"And he was there yesterday?" Steve asked, having calmed down somewhat.

"Yep," said Healey, "everything was fine, they said. Abbott was nervous, of course, they told us, but anxious to come in and get all this over with for now. There was no indication whatsoever that he'd take a flyer – so the IA guys are pretty baffled by it."

"And no signs of foul play?"

"Not a thing. We have the crime lab guys going over the place but they don't expect to find anything."

Mike sat back and looked at Olsen, then his two sergeants. "You guys have been working this case. What do _you_ think?"

Haseejian glanced at Healey. "To be perfectly honest, both of us, well, all three of us," he included Olsen in his nod, "have always had the feeling that this guy wasn't exactly what he seemed. Now it's been nothing we could prove, of course, or we'd have let everyone know already, but there's something just not right, you know what I mean?"

Both Mike and Steve nodded slightly.

"So, honestly, this kinda doesn't surprise me, but if you wanted me to come up with a reason behind all this – I'm at a loss."

"Mike, we went into everything in this guy's background that we could get our hands on and he always came up squeaky clean. Almost too clean," Healey offered. "But there was nothing we could put our fingers on to say 'this guy's too good to be true'. And believe me, we tried."

"But now, with this," Haseejian took over, "well, it looks, to me anyway, that maybe we _were_ on the right track with our paranoia." He chuckled dryly.

Mike leaned forward, a small appreciative smile playing at his lips. Slowly his eyes turned to Olsen. "So what happens now?"

"Well, IA is asking us for assistance on this," the captain couldn't resist a grin that the two sergeants shared, "and we're already on it. We got people covering the airport, buses, trains but too much time may have already passed and who knows if he's still in town or left by car hours ago. You guys know the routine… Anyway, these two are gonna head up our investigation as they already have a head start on everybody else. However, you," he pointed at Mike, "have to stay out of this but you," his finger shifted slightly towards Steve, "well, it's gonna be your call, but if you feel up to it, you might be able to give us a hand in the office."

Steve's eyebrows shot up and he smiled and turned to meet Mike's approving nod. "You bet. When can I start?"

"Well," Haseejian began with a grin, "how about first thing tomorrow morning? We'll pull everything we got and we'll go over it with you and see if your fresh eyes can see something we missed. Who knows, right?"

Mike had been staring at Olsen. "So what happens with the Grand Jury?"

"Well, from what Gerry said, they'll table this particular case – they are looking at four different potential cases this session – but only for a couple of days. If IA can't produce Abbott by then, there's the possibility that the Grand Jury may just toss this out." His eyes never left Mike's as he spoke, and when he finished, silence filled the room.

Mike closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands with a sigh. When he finally looked up, he said quietly, "You have to believe I do not wish this boy ill, I hope he's safe and sound somewhere - and I hate myself for saying this, but a big part of me hopes we never see him again… I'll go to my grave believing that I saw that knife, but he was beginning to make me doubt myself…"

Steve put a hand on Mike's left shoulder and squeezed. "Then you were the only one," he said softly, "because I never doubted you for a second."

"None of us did, boss," Haseejian added gently. "And we still don't."

"But we're not out of the woods yet," Olsen interjected cautiously. "The Grand Jury case being temporarily put on hold doesn't mean it's gonna go away permanently. And it won't stop the talk, the speculation that maybe you did shoot an unarmed man. I know there's talk; we've all heard it. In a department this size, there's gonna be agitators.

"So what we need to do is get to the bottom of all this, find out how this happened and why, and clear Mike's name completely. Are we all agreed?"

# # # # #

Steve was sitting at the desk in the sanctuary of Mike's office, having run the gauntlet of good wishes from his colleagues on his early morning arrival. Healey entered the office with a cardboard file box, Haseejian right behind him juggling three cups of coffee and a paper bag.

Healey dropped the box onto the desk as Haseejian handed Steve a cup and set the other two down. He opened the paper bag and offered his colleagues fresh donuts, only to realize that Steve could not indulge. "Oh, sorry about that, I forgot." He grinned at Healey. "Well, more for us." The two sergeants then watched in awe as Steve managed to sip his coffee through the wires in his mouth.

The inspector already had his jacket off and sleeves rolled up, and he lifted a tall stack of files from the box.

"Okay," said Healey, settling in, "let me give you a brief sketch of David Abbott. You can read the details later for yourself, but, basically, he's a 20-year-old white male from St. Louis, Missouri. He's been in town about six-and-a-half months. He came here directly from St. Louis by bus. He was a little too young for the 'peace and love' generation but he wanted to experience it anyway, so he came here with his guitar, hoping to make a living 'busking', as they call it, on the street.

"He was making enough to pay his rent in that small one-bedroom across the alley from our incident scene _and_ put food on his table, and he seemed to be happy with his life. His goal was to eventually resettle in L.A. and try to become a movie star."

Steve chuckled gently at the naivete.

"He had no trouble with anybody after he got here; no parking tickets – well, he didn't have a car - no jaywalking, he even played his guitar in the right areas; he never got hassled by us or anyone else. No drug problems, no civil disturbance or disturbing the peace. Absolutely nothing. A model citizen."

"We checked with St. Louis PD," Haseejian took up the tale, "and nothing there either. He's a high school grad and had one year of community college – he was taking an electrician's course – but he dropped out to 'chase his dream' of being a movie star. There's no record of anyone in his family having a problem with the law; they're your typical, whitebread, Midwest family; mom, dad, brother, two sisters and the family dog. Dad owns a hardware store and Mom's a housewife."

Steve looked up from his perusal of a file. "So, if this quy _is_ squeaky clean, where do you think our trouble lies? What triggers your 'paranoia', if it's not David Abbott?"

Haseejian and Healey looked at each other, but neither started to speak.

Jumping on their hesitation, Steve asked, "So… what? Are you starting to think that Mike did actually shoot an unarmed man?"

"God no!" Healey almost yelled, stung by the suggestion. He stopped himself, held his hands up as if stopping traffic, and took a deep calming breath. "Steve, before the second black-and-white got there and helped secure the scene, there were only four people in that apartment besides the dead man. You, Mike, Madsen and McKinley."

"So you're saying…if I'm getting your drift here," Steve said slowly, "that if Pettet really did have the knife in his hand when Mike shot him the second time, then it was either Madsen or McKinley that put it under him?"

Healey glanced at Haseejian then nodded reluctantly.

"You do know what you're saying here, right, Dan?" Steve continued, carefully choosing his words. "You're telling me that you believe a member of the San Francisco Police Department framed another member, came up with an 'eyewitness', then made that witness disappear just before he was to testify before the Grand Jury?" Healey nodded slowly after several long silent seconds. "Okay?…Then, why?"

"That's what we gotta find out, Steve," Haseejian said with a calmness he didn't feel. "Because I agree with Dan."


	14. Chapter 14

"Okay, so, here are the files," Haseejian said as he put the cardboard box on the picnic table in Mike's backyard. He reached in, took out the paperwork and laid it on the table. Healey had followed with a stack of legal length pads of paper and a handful of newly sharpened pencils.

Wearing a no-longer-white barbeque apron and holding a pair of long tongs in his left hand, Mike glanced over from the smoking grill just as Steve stepped through the back door from the kitchen with four opened beer bottles in his hands. While Mike was casual in a golf shirt and khakis, the others were still dressed for the office, though the jackets were gone, the ties were loosened and the sleeves rolled up.

Mike put the lid down on the barbeque and crossed to the end of the table, where the sergeants were now sitting, sorting out the paperwork. Steve had passed around the beer bottles, sticking a straw in his. Mike looked pointedly at the bottle in his partner's hand.

"What?" Steve asked, perplexed. "I finished the antibiotics two days ago. I can drink now, Mom," he chuckled as he raised his bottle in a salute and took a sip from the straw.

Feigning exasperation, Mike shook his head, turning to Haseejian. His smile disappeared. "So you guys are sure about this?"

His own expression atypically serious, Haseejian nodded soberly. "We went through everything, Mike – we even set up a sort of Chinese wall for Steve but we all came to the same conclusion. If Abbott is as squeaky clean as we all think he is, then it's the only logical interpretation of the facts we have in evidence."

Mike took a deep cheerless sigh. "The ramifications of this are going to be epic if you're right, you do realize that?" The other three glanced at each other and nodded. "Okay," he said resignedly, "let me get our dinner on the table and you can walk me through it." He went back to the barbeque.

Healey looked at Haseejian and sighed quietly. They all knew how much Mike loved his job and the department, and how deeply hurt he was going to be if what they believed happened actually occurred. But they also knew that his first passion was for the truth, at any cost, even if it meant personal or professional loss.

While the sergeants sorted out the paperwork, Steve went back and forth from the kitchen, setting the table and laying out the condiments and bowls of toppings. Mike brought two plates, with large hamburgers on buns, to the table, putting them down in front of Haseejian and Healey with a "Here you go, fellas", then went back for his own. "Steve," he called over his shoulder, "there's a strawberry smoothie in a glass in the fridge, and there's also a chocolate one ready-to-go in that plastic…thingy – with the handle – you know, from the blender? That's in the fridge too, in case you wanted a second one tonight."

Steve glanced at the two sergeants with a warm, surprised smile. "Thanks, Mike," he said as he got up and went back into the kitchen. Haseejian and Healey looked at each other and grinned.

When Steve came out with his strawberry smoothie and straw, the others had almost finished putting their burgers together. After taking his first bite, Mike asked, "So, where to you want to start?"

Haseejian took the lead, filling Mike in, between bites, as to how they had come to the conclusion that either Madsen or McKinley, or both, had been the 'mastermind' behind the turmoil they had been put through. They had long since finished their dinner by the time he got Mike up to speed.

"So," Healey continued, picking up the narrative, "we went to Personnel today and got their files. We really haven't had a chance to go through them yet – as you well know, the bureaucracy in our department is as red-tapey as anywhere else, and we had to get authorization from everyone, it seemed. But so far, well, as far as we know, Madsen and McKinley have no idea we pulled their files or that we have have any interest in them whatsoever."

"What we thought was," Haseejian took over again, "we'd leave these here with you and Steve tonight and you can go over them, Mike, and see if anything rings a bell. You know what we're looking for, of course, and it just makes sense that we leave it for you right now, 'cause there's really nothing Dan or I can add to this. If, for some reason, one of these guys has a score to settle with you, you're gonna know that better than us."

Mike was nodding. "That makes sense. But you know, just off the top, I don't remember these guys at all. I don't think I've even met either of them, let alone had some kind of run-in with them." He sighed, perplexed. "But, like you said, Steve 'n' I'll go through these tonight with a fine-toothed comb and see if we can come up with something. Right?" He looked up at his partner, who nodded in agreement.

# # # # #

After Haseejian and Healey had left, Mike and Steve had retreated back into the house, out of the encroaching darkness and chilling air. Now, leaning over the coffee table in the living room, the partners were going through the two personnel files. But so far, nothing had rung any bells.

Both Madsen and McKinley were relative newcomers to the department – Madsen a four-year veteran, McKinley a little over a year. They had been partners for six months. As Mike and Steve had been partners for longer than either patrolman had been on the force, any interaction Mike would have had with either of them would most probably have been with Steve as well. But so far, neither detective could recall having met the pair or spent time at a crime scene with either of them.

Both patrolmen had exemplary records; Madsen had one commendation already, for his quick response saving a driver from a burning vehicle. Neither had any disciplinary infractions, and evaluations from superiors were always above reproach.

"These guys could be the poster boys for our next recruitment campaign," Steve said with frustration as he closed McKinley's file. "I don't know, Mike, I don't see anything in either of these files that tells me one of these guys could suddenly go rogue and want to trash your career. It just doesn't make sense." He looked up at his equally baffled partner. "You?"

Mike shook his head. "Nothin'." He put Madsen's file on the table and sat back, taking off his reading glasses. "You're right, it _doesn't_ make any sense…but it has to." He looked up and met Steve's eyes. "I know what I saw, Steve. I saw that knife in Pettet's hand, I'm absolutely sure of it. I didn't put it under him and I know you sure didn't." He leaned forward. "Tell me again what you remember at the bottom of the stairs."

Steve stared at his partner, frowning, then began to speak slowly. "I was in and out of consciousness, I'm sure, but I remember McKinley holding me, telling me everything was gonna be all right, that Andy was gonna find you and that back-up and ambulances were on the way."

"What else?" Mike asked encouragingly, somehow knowing there was a memory there that Steve hadn't recovered yet. "You were at the foot of the stairs with McKinley. Where was Madsen?"

"He'd gone upstairs, to find you."

"Alone?"

"Yeah."

"What happened next?"

"We were waiting, waiting for him to yell down that he'd found you, I guess. It seemed like a long time but I'm sure it was only seconds…less than a minute, it had to have been."

"Then what?"

"Then an ambulance arrived. I remember them running up to us and McKinley telling them to go upstairs first – I guess he figured that you were hurt worse than me because we hadn't heard anything from Madsen."

"So McKinley never went upstairs?"

"Not while he was with me, he never left me. Not until you came out on the gurney, I remember seeing that and then I guess I passed out."

Mike leaned back, smiling slightly, like the pieces were beginning to fall into place. "I want to see those reports, the ones from the Pettet scene – Madsen's, McKinley's, the second unit to arrive, the ambulance report, everything. I want to nail down that timeline, because right now I think our Patrolman Madsen might have some explaining to do."

# # # # #

"What are you doing here?" Olsen asked from the office door.

Mike Stone looked up over the top of his reading glasses and smiled devilishly. "I haven't been barred from the building, have I? I'm on sick leave, Rudy, remember? I'm here on my own time."

"Whose file is that?"

"Don't worry, it's mine."

"Yours?"

"Yeah, mine. Is there a problem with that?"

"Uh, no, I guess…."

"Good."

"Excuse me, Rudy," came a quiet voice from behind Olsen and he turned to see Steve standing there, a file in his hand as well.

Olsen took a step back and Steve slipped past him into the office, sitting in the second chair. The inspector looked up with an open, inquiring expression. "Anything we can get for you, Captain?" he asked pleasantly.

"Um….no," Olsen said tentatively, then turned from the door and walked slowly across the squad room.

Steve looked at Mike and they both chuckled. "I don't think he was expecting to see me here," Mike grinned, then looked back down at the thick file on his desk.

"Any luck?" Steve asked, tossing the file in his hand on the desk.

Mike stretched slightly, working his right shoulder as he continued to stare at the papers before him. "Naw, nothin' –" He froze in mid-motion, his right arm slightly elevated, his left hand on his right shoulder.

Steve hesitated for a couple of seconds but when Mike didn't move, he leaned forward. "Are you okay?"

Still staring at the file, Mike slowly lowered his hand and arm, then looked up into his partner's now very concerned eyes. The tiny traces of a disbelieving smile were playing across his lips.

"What?"

"I, uh, I have to make a phone call, but I think I may have just found our Rosetta Stone."


	15. Chapter 15

The young officer knocked on Mike's door. When both detectives looked up, he held out a file. "This is from Sgt. Parker," he said as he handed the file to Steve.

"Thanks, son," Mike said with a nod as he took the file from Steve and opened it. As the younger man watched, Mike flipped quickly through the papers, found the one he was looking for and slid a second opened file over next to it. His eyes darted back and forth from one to the other then he smiled slightly and sat back. "Bingo."

Smiling slightly as well, but with his brow furrowed in bewilderment, Steve shrugged a question. "Are you going to fill me in?" he asked with a chuckle. He nodded towards the newly arrived file. "That looks old."

Mike chortled. "I'll say. About 25 years. Let me buy you a coffee and I'll tell you a story," he said as he got to his feet and headed to the office door.

Coffee cups in hand, the two detectives settled back into their chairs, Steve sitting back with his legs crossed. Mike pulled out the lower desk drawer and put his left foot on it, leaning back and cradling his mug in both hands.

"I'd only been on the force for about ten months, I think –"

"So we're talking back in the days when you were still driving Model T's and everyone had a handlebar mustache?" Steve teased with a laugh.

Sighing heavily, and trying not to smile, Mike shook his head in bemused exasperation. "Keep it up, smarty, and I _will_ have you back on patrol," Mike shot back, then the smile disappeared and he continued. "Anyway, my partner Bob Brewer and I – this was before Gus – we were walking a day beat in the Tenderloin. This black-and-white shot past us and we could hear it squeal to a stop a couple of blocks away.

"By the time we got there, the two patrolmen had gone into a house and had these two perps down on the floor in different rooms – they'd broken up this fight, there were no guns or knives or anything like that involved. It was pretty routine. Bob goes into the living room where one of our boys has one of the perps down on the floor cuffing him and I head into the kitchen to help the other one.

"I'd just gone through the door when all of a sudden our guy goes…ballistic… on this kid on the floor. I don't know what the kid said to him, but suddenly this guy starting pounding the hell out of the kid before I had time to react. I jumped on him and tried to pull him back - I had to have had a good twenty, thirty pounds on the guy - but it took everything I had to wrestle him off."

Mike, who had been staring into space, remembering, looked toward his partner. "The kid on the floor, I thought he was dead at first, he was bleeding from his nose, his ears, his mouth … it was brutal." Mike swallowed hard, the still visible bruises and abrasions on his partners face breathing new life into his memories. "And the cop, he was struggling against me, trying to get back at him." Mike shook his head. "I'd never seen anything like it. He, ah, he finally settled down to the point where I felt it safe to let him go. I had no idea who he was, I'd never met him before. His nametag said Garrity, and I found out later he'd been two years ahead of me at the Academy. Bob didn't know him either.

"So, everything settles down and I'm going to go call for an ambulance for the kid, and this Garrity comes up to me and he says 'I'm sorry about all that but you're gonna back me up on this, right, tell the brass the kid attacked me and I had to defend myself, right?' … I couldn't believe what I was hearing. But he wasn't asking me, he was threatening, I could hear it in his voice. I was the rookie, I was on probation, and I better do as he said or I would be the one on the hook, so to speak."

Mike paused, taking a sip from his now almost cold coffee. Steve's frown had deepened. "What did you do?" he asked quietly.

Mike waited several seconds before answering. "The 'code of silence' was pretty strong back then, there had been a lot of bad press that the department had been facing because of allegations of corruption and abuse. But this guy scared me, Steve. So I did the only thing I thought was right – I went to my captain, who took it upstairs. Garrity was called in, we were both interrogated, they investigated… and he was fired. He wasn't charged with assault or attempted murder, which personally I think he should have been. I think they just wanted to sort of sweep it all under the carpet."

"So this Garrity, did he threaten you?"

Mike looked up and shook his head. "No, nothing like that. He just disappeared. I heard through the grapevine that he had a rough go of it – he was newly married with a young kid and another on the way. He took to the bottle I heard, but nobody that I talked to thought he'd been given the shaft. Everyone seemed to agree that he was a loose cannon and he should never have been allowed to join the force in the first place." Mike snorted mirthlessly. "There wasn't much 'psychological testing' back then, let me tell ya."

"Hunh. So, ah, what makes you think that has anything to do with what's going on right now?"

Mike took his foot off the drawer and sat forward, putting the coffee cup on the table. He picked up the older file folder and turned it around, putting it back down in front of Steve, who had leaned forward as well. Mike pointed towards the paper on the right side of the file.

Steve read the hand-written application form for one Patrick Kean Garrity, his next of kin, address and other personal information. It seemed normal and nothing jumped out to catch his attention. He looked up at his partner.

With a slight smile, Mike picked up the second file and turned it around as well, dropping it back onto the desk. Then he sat back and waited.

On the right side of that file was the Personal Information form for Andrew Alan Madsen. On the second page were the names of his parents, his father Patrick Kean and his mother, Maureen Madsen.

Steve leaned back, meeting Mike's eyes. "Sonofabitch. He uses his mother's last name, and his father's last name is nowhere to be found." As Mike started to nod slowly, he continued, "Has he always been 'Madsen' I wonder, or did he change it just before he joined the force?" Mike shrugged.

They sat quietly for several long seconds, the implications running through their minds.

"We, ah, we still have a lot of work to do on this," Steve ventured slowly. "Was this all a set-up, or did Madsen just take advantage of an opportunity? What's his connection to Abbott? Was McKinley part of this or just an unwitting dupe? Did Madsen do everything alone?" He looked sharply at Mike. "Do you know if Garrity is still alive?"

"Hmm, good question. I have no idea, but I can find out quick enough." He reached for the phone then stopped. "How do _you_ think we should handle this? By ourselves? Or do you think we should bring Norm and Dan into the loop?"

Steve smiled slowly, grateful that Mike was asking him for advice about something that had become so critically important to both of them. "Well, as Rudy would say, 'let's get our ducks in a row'. We've got to be a hundred percent correct on this before we start pulling people in for questioning, and," he chuckled, "we're both on sick leave, remember? They've got to do the stuff we can't, legally, do right now - and besides, I think they deserve it."

Mike laughed then nodded, grinning. "Good. I do too." He picked up the phone and started dialing.

# # # # #

Haseejian sat back and sighed heavily. "Wow," he said in awe, and glanced at Healey, who was looking just as stunned.

Mike, in his chair, and Steve, perched on the corner of the desk, were looking at both sergeants in anticipation. "So," Mike said eventually, "what do you think?"

"To be perfectly honest," Haseejian began slowly, "this makes me extremely happy." He gestured at the files and grinned. "Now I know our paranoia actually had a basis in fact and we weren't losing our cop instincts. Thank god."

Healey nodded in agreement. "This is the best news we've had in days. We obviously still have a lot of work to do, but this has got to be it. That bastard Madsen; he was with us the entire time at the scene, he worked it with us. Hell, he was even wiping blood…" he paused and looked at Mike almost apologetically, "your blood, Mike, off his hands when we got there."

Mike shook his head, almost smiling. "Well, be that as it may, Dan, you're right. We do have a lot of work to do, or rather, you and Norm have a lot of work to do. Steve and I can do all the digging but until we've off the DL, you two are going to have to do all the interrogations and the paperwork. And we've got to make sure that this stays amongst the four of us, and Rudy, of course. Madsen can't know we're looking at him for this. So," he clapped his hands in a gesture that had all become so familiar with, "let's make ourselves a list of things we have to get done in the next day or so. Steve?"

His partner turned to him with a happy smile, which quickly disappeared when he saw Mike's grin and a pad and pen being slid across the desk towards him.

# # # # #

Feeling better than they had in days, the partners stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine and headed across the parking lot towards the Porsche. As Mike fished the car key out of his pocket, he crossed around to the driver's side door and put the key in the lock. He slid into the seat and was just reaching across to unlock the passenger side door when a black-and-white pulled up behind the Porsche and stopped.

"Lieutenant, Inspector," came a voice from inside the patrol car, and Steve turned automatically. He froze, suddenly bizarrely glad that his jaw was wired shut. Patrolman Madsen leaned out the passenger side window, grinning. "It's great to see you two. How are you both doing?"


	16. Chapter 16

Still inside the Porsche, Mike could hear Steve's "Patrolman Madsen," a little louder than necessary, and knew he was being warned. He got out of the car in time to see Steve approaching the passenger side of a black-and-white and leaning down to look inside and shake hands with the occupants.

Mike joined him, and Madsen looked up, squinting in the sunlight. "Lieutenant, good to see you looking so good, sir," he said with impressive sincerity, and Mike smiled.

"Thank you, Patrolman." Steve had stepped back and Mike held out his hand to shake Madsen's. "I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to thank you and your partner for everything you did for Steve and me. We owe our lives to you two and your quick thinking." Mike leaned into the car and shook McKinley's hand as well.

"It was our pleasure, sir," McKinley said with a wide smile. "I'm just happy were we in the right place at the right time."

As Mike straightened up, Madsen said, "Have you two heard anything more about what happened to that Grand Jury witness? All we heard was that he didn't show and they've put the case on the backburner."

Steve glanced quickly at Mike then smiled. "That's pretty well all we heard too. So we're just waiting, like everyone else."

Madsen's smiling face turned towards Mike. "Well, I just hope things work out for you, Lieutenant. That's a pretty shitty wrap you've been collared with, and I can tell you, to a man, there isn't a patrolman out here who thinks you did anything wrong." He glanced at his watch. "We gotta hit the streets, sir. Good luck with everything," he finished as McKinley stepped on the gas and the black-and-white rolled away.

The detectives watched it go then Steve turned to his partner. "Wow," he said slowly, "that is one cool bastard. I think he could even beat a polygraph – butter wouldn't melt in his mouth."

Mike was shaking his head. "He's smooth, that's for sure. We gotta make sure he doesn't get one whiff of what we're up to, 'cause I have a feeling we haven't seen the best of what Mr. Madsen can do."

# # # # #

"Okay, so, the only prints on the knife are Pettet's. That's set in stone, pardon the pun." Healey looked up and chuckled. "We went through all the reports and came up with a timeline – but, just so everyone is aware, some of the times are approximations, of course. That being said, there seems to be a minimum two minute gap from when Madsen left Steve and McKinley at the foot of the stairs to make his way to the second floor, to when the ambulance guys arrived at the apartment door. Obviously that's plenty of time for him to assess the situation and, possibly, move the knife from the vicinity of Pettet's hand to underneath his body."

"So, if he didn't touch it," ventured Steve from his position on the sofa beside Mike, "he, what? Lifted the body slightly and kicked it under?"

"Well, they weren't able to identify anything on the knife except a lot of blood, most of it yours, Steve, and Pettet's fingerprints," offered Haseejian, poring over the lab report. "As far as they were able to discern, there was nothing on the knife that suggested anything happened with it other than Pettet holding it, no unknown void marks or anything like that, so, ah, no help there…" He looked up at his boss.

Mike was sitting back on the sofa, staring unfocused into the middle distance, taking all of this in. He looked at his sergeants. "Anything turn up yet connecting Madsen and Abbott? Because you know, fellas, as strong as we make the case for Madsen staging the scene, so to speak, unless we can make a connection between Madsen and Abbott, all of this is just speculation."

Haseejian and Healey glanced at each other, discouraged. "Sorry, boss," said the Armenian detective with a shake of his head, "nothing yet."

"I, ah, I do have something I'm gonna look into," Healey took over, "but I have to make sure I have the right contact in the right place, so to speak, before I, how shall I put it? Ask for the favor?… I might know tomorrow but it might be a couple more days, sorry."

"Don't apologize, Dan," Mike smiled, "you guys are doing an amazing job here and I owe you a lot."

"You don't have to thank us," Haseejian said in all seriousness, "we wanna get this little bastard probably more than you do at this point. The fact that he stood beside us at the scene, looking and acting as upset about everything as we were…god, I can't believe the audacity of that guy."

Healey, who had been watching his partner with concern, slapped him on the shoulder as he stood. "Look, ah, we better get out of here, let you guys get to your dinner. Mike, I'll look into that, ah, 'theory' of mine and let you know what I find."

Mike shook Healey's hand, "Thanks, Dan." He escorted the sergeants to the door and turned back to Steve after they had gone. "What do you think?"

Steve smiled. "I think I'm glad they're on our side!"

# # # # #

Steve put the empty glass down with a thud. "God, I'm getting sick of these," he said with only slightly exaggerated self-pity.

Mike chuckled as he took his ginger ale glass to the sink to rinse it out. "It won't be too much longer, possess yourself. Your doctor said it's healing perfectly, didn't he?"

"Unh-hunh."

"Well then, just be thankful they don't have to operate on it."

"True," Steve sighed. "I swear, the minute I can open my mouth, I'm putting a steak in it."

"Yeah," Mike said slowly, "I don't think it works that way. I think you have to get back to solid food slowly. I'm going to lay in a stock of baby food –"

"What?!"

"I'm joking, I'm joking," Mike laughed. "I really don't know. Let's wait and talk to your doctor, all right?" He had crossed back to the kitchen table and sat, still chuckling.

"So," Steve began, his tone much more serious, "where did you say Garrity was living?"

"He's got a house in Bernal Heights, been there for years from what I was told. Bob said he was a security guard at a warehouse for over twenty years, but he's on some kind of disability right now, bad back or something like that. He wasn't sure."

"Gut feeling, do you think he's in cahoots with his son on this, or did the little sapling do this all by himself?"

Mike chortled. "Ah, your guess is as good as mine. If Garrity was so all-fired determined to scuttle _my_ career, why did he wait almost twenty-five years?" he asked rhetorically. "It doesn't make any sense, at least not to me."

Steve nodded. "Me neither." He paused then looked at his watch. "Hey, game's gonna start. You find the station and I'll get our beers and the cards. I am going to beat you tonight!"

# # # # #

Mike opened the front door to a beaming Healey on his doorstep. The sergeant was almost vibrating and a chuckling Mike stepped back to let him in.

"I've got it, Mike, I've got it," he said as he crossed to the coffee table, opening the file in his hand. "Oh, hi, Steve," he greeted as the younger man emerged from the kitchen drying his hands on a towel.

Mike glanced at Steve with an amused smile as they followed the sergeant to the sofa and sat. Healey was perched on the edge of the armchair, laying the open file on the coffee table.

"So I got in touch with my 'friend' this morning," Healey began without preamble, "and I asked if I could see the booking slips and tickets for the past six weeks. It took me most of the day, but I found it!" He paused for a second, seeming to regroup. "Now, I still have some details to nail down, but this is the gist of it."

Mike and Steve looked at each other, smiling at the sergeant's enthusiasm.

"Okay," Healey took a breath and began, "I kept trying to think how Madsen's and Abbott's paths had crossed, and nothing seemed to make sense. Then I thought, maybe their 'run-in' was entirely professional. Turns out I was right. So I got ahold of the patrol schedule for the past six weeks and it turns out that three weeks before the Pettet incident, McKinley was out sick for two days and Madsen was on his own.

"So, on a hunch, I asked to see the booking slips and tickets issued for that time period – this is what I had to do on the sly, of course – and lo and behold, there's a ticket form missing from that time period, a ticket that Madsen issued. Now, I am the only one that seems to know about this right now, and I don't want to get someone in trouble that doesn't deserve it, but I did a little more digging, and the ticket issued before the missing one," he pointed at a photocopy in the file, "is made out to a Paul Anthony Beaumont. I tracked this guy down this afternoon and he is a street musician who plays guitar and harmonica downtown on street corners. Sound familiar?"

When the two detectives nodded, Healey smiled and continued, "Mr. Beaumont knows, or rather knew, our Mr. Abbot; they used to 'busk' together. It seems that on the day in question, he and Abbott were 'taking a break' to have some lunch and a toke, and they were both so ripped that they urinated against a building when this black-and-white drives by and they get busted for public urination. Seems they'd finished their 'smokes' and though the …odor… was still lingering in the air, there was no … evidence left so they didn't get arrested for possession.

"Anyway, this gets me to thinking, and I'm not sure if I'm right about this but hear me out … What if, and it might be a big _if_ , none of this stuff with Pettet was premeditated? What if Madsen can think on his feet really, really fast and when an opportunity presented itself, he acted?" Healey paused.

Mike nodded, brow furrowed. "Go on."

"What if Madsen has been harboring this grudge against you, Mike, for years because of what happened to his father, but he is able to keep his anger under control? What if, when the Pettet thing happened, he was just a patrolman responding to a call? But when he got upstairs and found you, Mike, unconscious, your gun in your hand and Pettet dead with a bullet in his chest and a knife at his side, he thought, and rightly so it seems, that there was a more than good chance he could make it look like excessive force if it seemed the knife was _under_ Pettet?

"Then, as his luck would have it, and knowing the sequence of events because of what we speculated at the scene, which he was helping to work, he remembers that kid from the Midwest he ticketed a couple of weeks before for a misdemeanor. The kid must have been scared shitless – this is a kid who up to then had had zero run-ins with the law, and now he's ticketed for public urination and he knows he was very close to getting busted for pot as well. This kid has got to be quaking in his boots."

Healey paused, almost anticipating he was going to be told he was crazy and on the wrong path, but the other two were just staring at him with what looked liked growing admiration. Encouraged, he continued.

"So Madsen gets to this kid, who by the most amazing coincidence lives right across the alley from Pettet, and he somehow coerces him into coming forward with this 'eyewitness account'. Now remember what we heard from IA, that the reason Abbott didn't come forward right away was he was out of town for a few days visiting his family and didn't realize that he was the only one who had seen what he did through the window. Suppose he didn't really leave town but he didn't see what he says he did and only came forward after coercion from Madsen."

Mike was nodding his head. "I'll buy that, but what form do you think this coercion took?"

Healey shrugged, "I don't know, but it probably had something to do with holding a pot conviction over this kid's head – it wouldn't be beyond Madsen to plant something in the kid's apartment, I would think – and also telling him he could make the ticket go away as well. I mean, he already made the ticket disappear from Records. Madsen could have threatened him with something else too, something bigger and nastier. I mean, if he's gonna frame _you_ for a possible manslaughter charge, who knows what he's capable of doing."

Finished, Healey sat back in the armchair and folded his arms. "So…?"

Mike leaned forward slowly and glanced down at the file on the coffee table. Both Steve and Healey were watching him closely, knowing how much was on the line here. Mike eventually raised his head and met Healey's gaze directly.

"Dan, have you and Norm decided on which judge you want to approach for a warrant?"


	17. Chapter 17

"You know you guys really can't be here for this," Captain Olsen said when Mike and Steve walked through the door of Homicide.

Mike put up his hands. "Relax, Rudy, we just came in to say hi to everybody." They strolled towards the inner office, the captain trailing behind.

"Yeah, right. Why do I have a hard time believing that," Olsen mumbled to himself. "Who called you, Haseejian?" he asked louder.

Steve looked over his shoulder. "Nobody called us," he said innocently. "Why, what's going on?" He dropped into the guest chair in the office as his partner sat in his regular spot, tossing his fedora onto the desk.

"Fine, all right," Olsen surrendered, his hands in the air. "Enjoy your visit, but if I see either of you anywhere near the interview rooms, I'll have you both escorted from the building, do you hear me? We have come too far with this to have it jeopardized by you two when you're not supposed to be anywhere near here and you have no authority right now." When he was met by two beatific smiles, he shrugged helplessly and crossed the squad room with a frustrated sigh.

Mike and Steve were still chuckling when Tanner and Lessing appeared in the doorway. "So what are you guys up to?" Tanner asked, watching the captain leave the room.

Waiting till Olsen was out of sight, Mike turned to his inspectors, suddenly serious. "Do they have Madsen?"

Lessing nodded. "Yeah, he was brought in about a half hour ago, but they didn't place him under arrest. He was told he was just being brought in for another debriefing about the Pettet shooting."

"Did he seem suspicious at all?" Steve asked.

"Nope, Norm and Dan handled it like it was just routine. They made him wait in here for a few minutes while they finished off a report they were working on. Then they got Bill and me to bring in a couple of loud suspects that made conversation in here difficult, and Norm asked Madsen if he wouldn't mind if they moved their talk into the interrogation room so they could have some quiet." Lessing chuckled. "They were smooth, man. Madsen fell for it."

Mike glanced at his watch. "It's already 4 p.m. and they're just getting started. I think it's gonna be a long night." He paused then looked at Tanner. "Bill, could you do me a favor and ask Patrolman McKinley if he could come by to see me? He should be just getting off his shift."

"Sure, Mike," Tanner said, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

"What's that all about?" Steve asked.

"Oh, I just want to pass the time of day with him," Mike answered with a smile.

# # # # #

Haseejian had his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. He took a sip from the can of Coke on the table near his elbow then made another notation in his notebook. Healey was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room near the door, a file in his lap.

Madsen, in the chair across the table from Haseejian, his hat on the table before him, glanced at his watch and tried to suppress an irritated sigh. Healey eyes flicked up, catching the movement, but he didn't say anything. He smiled subtly to himself.

"So," said Haseejian finally, "where do you know the Lieutenant and the Inspector from again? 'Cause, you know, your partner said you were calling them by their first names at the scene but the Lieutenant and the Inspector don't ever remember meeting you." He looked up and stared at Madsen pointedly but friendly.

"I, uh, well, I never really met them, but everybody in the department knows about Lieutenant Stone and Inspector Keller. They're almost legendary, right? So I guess I just felt I knew them, you know, like people think they know T.V. characters, right? Archie Bunker, Joe Friday…?"

Haseejian chuckled. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. One of my girlfriends once asked if I ever met Chief Ironside on this job." Healey laughed so hard he started coughing, so he got up and walked to the table, picking up his own can of Coke and taking a deep draft. Madsen's laugh was uncomfortable.

"So, Andy – you don't mind if I call you Andy, right?" Haseejian asked in all innocence, and when Madsen nodded he continued, "Thanks. Andy, so, just to go over this again, because we really want to make sure that what Abbott told IA jibes with what you put in your report, when you got into the bedroom on the second floor – that's the room at the end of the hall – the Lieutenant was lying unconscious in the doorway with his gun in his left hand…?"

Madsen nodded, "Yes, sir."

"And on the far side of the bed, lying on his back, was the body of Pettet, and there was no sign whatsoever of a knife on or near his body?"

"Yes, sir, the body was there, and there was no sign of a knife anywhere."

"Yeah, hmmm, that does correspond with what Abbott said to IA, that there was no knife in Pettet's hand when he got up and Mike shot him the second time." He seemed to accept the similarity of the accounts reluctantly. He continued to write for several long silent moments, and Madsen fidgeted again.

Glancing up and smiling, Haseejian put the pen down then snapped the file shut and pushed it away. Madsen, seeming to believe their discussion was over, began to rise, only to resettle when Haseejian pulled another file closer and opened it, rifling through the top pages with aggravating slowness. Both sergeants saw the patrolman glance at his watch again.

Suddenly Haseejian looked up. "Did you know David Abbott?" he barked sharply.

Madsen's head snapped back and he froze. "Excuse me?"

Haseejian smiled and repeated more slowly, "Did you know David Abbott?"

"Uh, no, sir, we never met."

"You're sure about that?" Haseejian stare went from Madsen's face down to the file on the table. He opened the brass fasteners on the top of the file and took off the top sheet, sliding it across the table. "This is your handwriting, isn't it?"

Madsen looked down and both sergeants noted the almost imperceptible hesitation when his eyes settled on the paper. The patrolman swallowed. "Yes, that's my writing."

Haseejian picked the sheet back up and turned it so he could read it. "Paul Anthony Beaumont. Do you remember him?"

"Ah, yes, sir, he was a street musician that I ticketed for public urination a few weeks ago."

"That's right. But you didn't just issue one ticket, did you? You wrote two, if I'm not mistaken, right?"

"No, it was just him," Madsen insisted.

Haseejian smiled again, looking very much like a mongoose eyeing a cobra. "No, I don't think so. You see, we found out about a missing ticket and that seemed just a little suspicious to us, so Dan here," he nodded towards Healey, "he spent yesterday tracking down Mr. Paul Anthony Beaumont and Mr. Beaumont told him all about how he and Mr. Abbott got stoned one afternoon while they were 'buskering' and took a pee against a wall and got into trouble with law enforcement because of it."

Madsen had sat back in his chair. He had swallowed hard and his eyes had shifted from Haseejian to Healey and back, and it was obvious to the two sergeants that the young patrolman was beginning to feel the noose around his neck.

"He even remembered that he had been given the first ticket and Abbott the second, which fits in quite well with Sergeant Healey's discovery of that missing ticket, which happens to be sequentially the one issued after this one." He tapped his index finger on the paper on the table.

Madsen swallowed again then, looking straight ahead, said forcefully, "If you wish to continue, then I suggest you arrest me right now because I'm leaving." He began to stand.

Haseejian tilted his head slightly in Healey's direction. "Dan." Healey stood quickly, dropping the file he was holding onto the floor, and crossed quickly to beside Madsen. "Andrew Alan Madsen, you are under arrest for tampering with evidence and filing a false report, with other charges pending. You have the right –"

"I know my rights," Madsen spat out, "and I waive them. And you don't have to cuff me, I'm not going anywhere." He sat back down heavily.

Healey looked at Haseejian, who eventually nodded. Healey returned to his chair.

Madsen stared down at the table for several long seconds, then he looked up at Haseejian. "Before we continue I want to make a phone call."

"All right," the Armenian sergeant nodded, "we'll take you to an office so you can use the phone, then we're coming right back here. You better call your wife 'cause I don't think you're gonna be home tonight."

# # # # #

Haseejian walked into the Homicide Bureau as McKinley was leaving. The young patrolman looked shaken and walked past the sergeant without making eye contact.

Haseejian shook his head in confusion then looked up, surprised to see Mike and Steve in the inner office. He crossed to the doorway.

"What are you two doing here and why was he here?" he said, gesturing over his shoulder in the direction McKinley had gone.

"Relax," Mike smiled, "we're not here to interfere, don't worry. This is all you and Dan. I just wanted to feel out McKinley to see if he really was the wide-eyed innocent in all this. And guess what, he is. He's pretty shook up right now and he doesn't even really know what's going on. I kinda feel sorry for him."

"How's it going in there?" asked Steve.

Haseejian grinned. "Well, we put the noose over his head a couple of hours ago, and a few minutes ago we tightened it. We just Mirandized him and Healey's got him in an office with a phone; he's making a couple of calls. He knows we've got him – now we just have to get him to admit it. It ain't gonna be easy but it's sure gonna be fun."

"Well done," said Mike with genuine admiration.

"Thanks." Haseejian's grin faded. "I just hope we find out what happened to that Abbott kid. The more I find out about him the more I hope he's safe and sound somewhere, just scared to come forward and tell someone that he was blackmailed into saying what he did. Talk about a wide-eyed innocent…"

Mike and Steve nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I'm beginning to feel that Abbott and I have a lot in common in all this; he got blindsided too," Mike said sadly.

"Yeah, well, I better get back in there," Haseejian said with a sigh. "Gonna be a long night, but this may all be behind us by tomorrow morning, guys."

"Finger crossed, Norm," Steve called as the sergeant turned and left the squad room.

Mike looked at his partner. "Well, give me a few minutes to go fill Rudy in on what's happening and then we'll go home. Deal?"

# # # # #

Steve was taking the free time to tidy his desk - filing reports and cleaning up. The office was quiet, the sun was down and the place had a definite 'end of the day' feel. One of the new inspectors was at his desk in the corner filling out a form on a old typewriter; Tanner and Lessing, though they could have left hours before were hovering around and Sekulovich was on his way out the door.

"Let go of me, I've got a right to be here!" came a deep angry voice from the hallway and, as heads came up, a stocky, grey-haired older man came barreling into the office, two young officers in tow. "Who's in charge here?!" he spat out, glancing around the room, his eyes sliding over Lessing and Tanner and coming to rest on Steve.

Steve got up and took a step towards the newcomer. "Excuse me, sir, can I help –"

"I wanna see my son! Where is he?! I have the right to see him!"

"Excuse me, who's your –?"

"Garrity!" A commanding voice sliced through the air and everyone froze.

Garrity turned slowly, his grizzled unshaven face and rheumy eyes settling with disgust on Mike, who stood in the doorway. Nobody moved as they eyed each other, the atmosphere around them crackling with animosity.


	18. Chapter 18

"Where's my son?!" Garrity spat out again as he and Mike stared at one another, neither man moving.

Steve's eyes snapped quickly to Tanner and Lessing, as all three tensed, knowing that any second they might have to intervene. The standoff continued.

Very slowly, a slight smile played over Mike's lips. "You mean Patrolman _Madsen_? The son who was so ashamed of his father that wouldn't even take his name?"

"Why you sonofa –" With clenched fists, Garrity took a quick step towards Mike then stopped himself. The three inspectors had started to move then caught themselves and held their ground.

Mike didn't flinch, but his taunting smile slowly disappeared. "Do you have something you want to say to me?"

"I have nothing to say to you," Garrity growled, but his eyes flicked away briefly, and Mike knew he was starting to back down.

Mike waited, his eyes never leaving Garrity's face. "I think you do." Then, without looking at the others, asked, "Fellas, could you give us the room?"

Steve glanced at Lessing and Tanner and nodded slightly. The young inspector at the corner desk, who had scrambled to his feet then froze when all this started, joined his colleagues as they headed for the door. Steve was the last out, and he briefly touched Mike's arm as he walked past his partner towards the door. With a final look back at the two older men staring at each other in the centre of the room, he closed the door.

The silence lengthened then Garrity cocked his head and smiled slightly, looking at Mike through cold, dead eyes. "You always thought you were better than me," he hissed.

"And you always thought you could beat a confession out of a suspect," Mike countered quietly.

"I was a better cop than you were or ever will be."

"Yeah? Whose name is on the door?" Mike thrust his chin slightly forward and Garrity turned his head, glancing at the glass door of the inner office.

Garrity looked back at him, determined defiance shining from his eyes. "Well, you always knew the right butts to kiss, candy-ass."

Mike snorted mirthlessly. "What are you doing here, Garrity? There's nothing you can do for your son now, he's dug his own grave."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. My boy didn't do anything."

"Go ahead, keep telling yourself that. What did you do, tell him year after year about how you got screwed by the department, by me? That you were framed? That the reason you turned into a drunk was because everyone had it in for you –"

"You bastard!" Garrity shouted and started towards Mike, fists up. Mike flinched almost imperceptibly but stood his ground, keeping his hands open and down at his sides. They stood eye to eye for several long seconds, neither breathing. Eventually Garrity relaxed and lowered his fists then, with a vicious sneer, took a couple of steps back and half-turned away. "I have no idea what my boy did, but whatever it was, I'll back him up a hundred percent. He was just standing up for his papa, and no-one can tell me he was wrong for doin' that."

Relaxing only slightly, Mike's unblinking eyes followed the other man as he moved away to lean against Steve's desk. "So you're saying you have no idea what your son did?"

Garrity smiled. "That's what I'm saying, and I dare you to prove otherwise, Lieu-ten-ant," he dragged the title out sarcastically.

Mike took a step forward and Garrity tensed. "You better be telling me the truth, because once we have your son behind bars – and you know just how much cons love having a disgraced cop in their midst – then we're coming after you."

Garrity's smug façade crumbled slightly and Mike knew he had struck a nerve. "Yeah, well, good luck on both counts there, Lieu-ten-ant."

"I don't need luck."

Garrity, who had been staring down at Steve's desk, running his fingers along the edge, looked up directly and defiantly into Mike's eyes. "Oh, you're gonna need more than that. Think about it, how many of your colleagues are gonna trust you anymore?"

When Mike didn't say anything, Garrity smiled slightly and stood a little straighter.

"I know what's going on, I listen. I know there's talk going around about how you shot an unarmed man. I know you're gonna get off, they won't charge you for that – you're a lieu-ten-ant after all, the great Mike Stone, you're above reproach," he snarled sarcastically.

"But isn't there something in the back of your mind now, a little niggling self-doubt that says to you, yeah, maybe they were right, maybe the guy was unarmed and I was wrong.

"So, maybe the next time you're out on the street with your partner, and you gotta maybe shoot somebody to save your life, or his, and that little niggling doubt starts talking to you again…" Garrity paused, shrugging. "You're gonna…what? Hesitate? Make sure the guy really is armed before you shoot him? Risk getting your partner killed?" Garrity's questioning expression turned slowly into a rictus grin and he began to chuckle.

Mike's stare had begun to turn inward as Garrity went on, and now, as the other man strolled casually past him towards the door, he swallowed hard and turned slowly. As Garrity put his hand on the doorknob, Mike said quietly, "You're a sad, pathetic little man, Garrity. You always have been. And so is your son."

Garrity's smile got larger as he turned the knob and opened the door. "Best of luck with what's left of yourcareer there, Lieu-ten-ant," he sneered, then casually strolled out the door, past the inspectors who were waiting anxiously in the hallway.

They watched him go, then re-entered the homicide office, glancing at Mike as they went to their desks. Steve stopped beside his partner and studied his unreadable face before asking quietly, "Are you okay?"

Mike seemed to shake himself back to the present, looked at Steve and smiled slightly. "Yeah. Ah, let's get our stuff and go home." He strode towards his office.

# # # # #

The drive back to the De Haro house was made in silence. Steve had taken the key from Mike, telling him he was cleared to drive now and, he had to admit, it felt good to be behind the wheel of his beloved Porsche again. But he was worried about his partner. Mike hadn't said two words to him since they left the office, and Steve knew the encounter with Garrity had not gone exactly the way he'd hoped. But try as he might, he could not figure out what the irate ex-cop could have said that would have upset Mike so much.

Mike had made chili earlier in the day and the smell from the crockpot was wonderfully inviting when Steve opened the front door. The sun was setting, and Mike stayed out on the stoop, sitting on the top step, watching it. A minute later, Steve came out with two beers, handed one to his partner then sat beside him. After several silent moments, he glanced at Mike and asked quietly, "Anything you feel like talking about?"

With a quiet chuckle, Mike looked down then up to meet the younger man's eyes. He took a deep breath then let it out loudly. He began to speak, stopped, took another breath then said softly, "Steve, I'm thinking of pulling the pin."

This was so unexpected that younger man froze in mid-motion. "What? Wait a minute, what…? Where the hell did this come from?" He was staring at Mike's profile, trying to get his thoughts together, trying not to yell.

Still looking forward, Mike smiled slightly, warmly. "I've been thinking about it for awhile now," he whispered, "and I think it's time. Maybe past time."

"Mike, no…what? What the hell are you talking about…?" Steve paused, realizing he was gasping for air as much as he was grasping for words. "Wait a minute, is this because of something Garrity said to you? It is, isn't it?" When Mike didn't respond, he continued, "Come on, Mike, tell me – what did the bastard say to you?"

Mike turned to him slowly, love and gratitude writ large across his face. "It doesn't matter what he said, Steve," he said softly, "it only matters what I think and how I feel. And I feel that the time has come for me to take that offer they keep making me – make the move upstairs, get off the streets or retire with a full pension."

"No, no, no – you're not gonna just walk away from this job that I know you love so much, you're not just gonna walk away from…from me," Steve's voice cracked slightly and he cleared his throat. "We're gonna talk about this. I'm not going to let you leave without a fight, you have to know that, right?"

"Steve, I've made my mind up –"

"Then I'm gonna change it!" Steve's vehemence made Mike chuckle and he bit his lip and looked away. Steve took his own deep breath, calming himself down. He took a long pull from his beer before beginning again, his tone more soothing and composed. "Mike, one of the things I've always been able to count on in our partnership has been our honesty with each other, our ability to be able to say anything without the risk of… prejudgment or ridicule, for lack of better words.

"And something's telling me that this is one of those moments, that I need you right now to be absolutely honest with me and tell me what's really going on, because I don't believe for a moment that you've just suddenly decided to retire. It just doesn't make sense to me and I'm not going to accept it without a better explanation."

Mike had been staring at the step while the younger man talked, and spontaneous tears had appeared in his eyes. He took a deep unsteady breath and cleared his throat. Then, nodding slowly, he turned to face his young friend. "You're right, I owe you the truth. I'm sorry. I, ah, I was just thinking about myself." Steve opened his mouth to say something but Mike stopped him with a gesture.

Mike took another deep breath and looked away, but he began to speak softly, with a slight nod. "You're right, it was something Garrity said to me. But he just said it out loud – it's actually something I've been thinking about for awhile now." He paused then looked up at his partner. "Steve, I'm afraid that when I get back out on the street again, and we get into a situation where I might have to use my gun again, that because of what happened with Pettet…well, that I might hesitate if I think the suspect is unarmed. And that might mean that me, or god forbid you, could pay the price for that hesitation… I don't care about myself, but I can't put that burden on you, I can't saddle you with a partner who could get you killed… and that would be me."

Steve had listened in silence, his heart starting to break the more Mike talked. When the older man had finished, they sat quietly for several seconds, then Steve began to smile and he reached out and put his arm around Mike's shoulders. "Is that all it is?" he asked with a chuckle.

Startled, Mike twisted his head to look into his partner's laughing face, pulling away slightly. "Is that all it is?" he echoed incredulously.

Steve squeezed Mike tighter, still chuckling and shaking his head. "Michael, if you think I have one iota of doubt about you as a partner, then maybe we should break up, because I want you to know," his tone started to turn serious, "that I could never find another person that I would trust more with my life, in any situation, at any time, than you. I don't know anyone with your skill, your strength and your decency, and there is no one on earth that I want more as my partner than you."

Mike was staring at him evenly, and Steve knew he was trying not to cry. Smiling warmly, Steve gave Mike's shoulders one more squeeze. "That chili smells pretty damn good, don't you think? I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Come on." He got to his feet and quickly entered the house.

Inhaling the cool night air deeply, Mike stayed where he was and closed his eyes. He had never felt so loved. With a happy sigh and a self-conscious smile, he slowly stood and followed his partner into the house.


	19. Chapter 19

"Yeah… yeah… Well, that's not surprising. Right… Okay, yeah…. Thanks, Norm. Yeah, we'll see you tomorrow." Steve hung up the phone. picked up the beer bottles from the kitchen counter and went back into the living room.

Mike was sitting on the armchair he had pulled to the far side of coffee table. He started dealing as Steve sat on the couch and put the bottles on the table. "Who was that?"

"Norm," Steve answered as he picked up his cards. "Madsen lawyered up, no surprise there. He's not going with a PBA lawyer, which _is_ a surprise. His father got one for him so god only knows who that is."

Mike snorted.

"Anyway, Norm said they're finished for the night and they'll start back at it tomorrow but he's pretty sure Madsen is just going to deny everything until this goes to trial." He paused and looked at Mike sympathetically. "It looks like we're going to be living this over again for a long time. You ready for it?"

Mike chuckled. "Well, I don't think we've got much of a choice, do we?"

Steve took two cards out of his hand and tossed them towards Mike. "So," he said with mischief in his voice, "are you gonna be at my bedside when I go in for my rhinoplasty?"

"Rhinoplasty…" Mike chuckled again, trying to decide which two cards to discard from his hand. "It sounds like they're going to be shoving a large, horned, leather-skinned animal up your nose."

Luckily, Steve had just been about to take a sip of beer so there was none in his mouth when he laughed. Mike looked at him innocently. "What?" He tossed two cards down on the two Steve had discarded.

"Careful," Steve admonished with a smile, "you make me laugh with liquid in my mouth and I could drown, you know?"

"Yeah, right," Mike agreed dryly as he tossed a card onto the table. "When do you get the wires out anyway?"

"It's still another three weeks. I can't wait. I don't know if I can drink pureed chili again, as good as it was," he grumbled. "Anyway, you're gonna be back at work a lot sooner than I am."

"I'll keep your seat warm."

Steve chuckled and tossed a card on the table. "Say, why didn't you ever get it?"

"Get what?" Another card tossed on the table and a peg moved.

"Rhinoplasty."

Mike's eyes shot up so fast that Steve flinched then smiled as sweetly and apologetically as he could. Mike's stern, angry look dissolved into a wry grin. "What, and destroy this purely original creation?" he asked with a magician's flourish.

They both chuckled and turned their attention back to the cards.

"I know this is not our case but I really want to find out what happened to David Abbott," Mike said as he picked up the cards, stacked them and handed them to Steve. "Norm didn't say anything about that, did he?"

Steve shook his head as he shuffled.

"Well, let's keep on them about that. I don't want what happened to this kid to fall through the cracks." He looked at Steve's hands. "Are you shuffling or are you rubbing the spots off? Come on, deal!"

# # # # #

"Mike, good to see you," Gerry O'Brien greeted the detective. "Have a seat."

Mike, fedora in hand, sat in one of O'Brien's guest chairs.

"How are you doing, Mike? You look great," the ADA said as he took his place behind his desk.

"I'm doing great, Gerry, thanks. Almost a hundred percent. I'm going back to work full-time in a couple of days."

"That's great. And Steve? How's he doing?"

"Well, it's gonna be awhile till he gets back. They won't operate on his nose till his jaw is no longer wired and that's gonna be another couple of weeks at least, so he won't be back on the streets for a bit," Mike expained with a sigh.

"Poor guy. I bet he's itching to get back to work. Ah, listen, Mike, before we get started, I just want to apologize to you for what we had to do with the Pettet thing. God knows I didn't want to have to go after _you,_ of all people, but IA came to me with such overwhelming evidence, I didn't have a choice. If it had been up to –"

"Gerry, Gerry, it's okay," Mike cut him off with his hands up and a smile. "Don't worry about it. I know it wasn't your decision, and the evidence was the evidence. I'm just glad things turned out the way they did."

O'Brien exhaled loudly, obviously relieved. "You're not the only one, Mike, believe me. I felt so bad about it all, you have no idea."

"Water under the bridge, believe me. But, that's sort of why I'm here," Mike said carefully. "I know things are moving ahead with regards to formally charging Madsen and I know I officially have nothing to do with it except I'm, maybe, in a way, the plaintiff, I guess? The aggrieved party? Whatever, I don't care." He took a breath. "What I'm trying to say is, Gerry, there's this kid that got caught up in all this, David –"

"Abbott, yeah," O'Brien interrupted him, listening intently.

"That's right, and as you know, this kid has disappeared. And I kinda feel that he's as big a victim of Madsen as I was." He paused again. "Gerry, I want to find him, dead or alive, I want to find out what happened to him …for his parents … for the guys working the case… for me…"

O'Brien waited, watching as the detective struggled to find the words and get his emotions under control. "You've never met this kid, have you?" he asked kindly.

Mike shook his head. "Nope, and he was almost responsible for me being put behind bars, so…" He looked at O'Brien almost sheepishly and shrugged. "I can't put it into words, Gerry, but I just have to find this kid."

"Okay," O'Brien said slowly, "so, what do you want from me?"

Mike hesitated. "I want you to make a deal with Madsen. I want you to take one of the charges off the table, but only on the condition that Madsen tells us what happened to the kid. Can you do that?"

O'Brien leaned back in his chair. "Well, it's not usually something we do -" he began slowly.

"But you can do it?" Mike cut him off.

"I'll have to run it past my boss, but I might be able to persuade him –"

"I can go with you," Mike interrupted again.

The ADA chuckled. "Okay, Mike, okay, I get it – this means a lot to you. Look, let me give this some thought and see what I can come up with, and if I think it'll fly, I'll let you know and we can both go to the D.A. Does that work for you?"

Mike got to his feet with a broad grin. "Thanks, Gerry," he said happily, holding his hand out for O'Brien to shake. "I knew you'd understand." He crossed quickly to the door and turned back. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

# # # # #

Haseejian stuck his head into the doorway of the inner office, where Mike and Steve were poring over a stack of files and photos. "Hey, boss, just to let you know, Madsen's preliminary hearing is this morning, finally. Dan and I are going over, and we'll let you know what's up, okay?"

"Thanks, Norm. Nothing yet on Abbott?" Mike asked hopefully.

After their meeting, Assistant D.A. Gerry O'Brien had lived up to his word and approached Madsen with a deal – the charge of extortion would be dropped if he would provide authorities with information about the fate of David Abbott. Madsen, unfortunately a true product of his lineage, continued to maintain that he had nothing to do with the young Missourian's disappearance and refused the offer.

Frustrated, Mike had taken it upon himself and Steve to try everything, from the confines of their office as they were both still on restricted duty, to locate the young man. So far they had come up with nothing, but Mike wouldn't give in to the growing fear that David Abbott was indeed dead.

A week later, Mike was in Olsen's office, discussing a couple of open cases. A date had been set for the Madsen trial, but it was well into the future and there were other matters that needed their immediate attention. O'Brien had told them he was confident that the evidence they had against the disgraced patrolman was overwhelming and that the trial should prove to be little more than a formality at this point, even without Abbott.

There was a knock on Olsen's door and Steve stuck his head in. "Sorry, Rudy. Mike, there's a call for you. I think you need to take this one right now."

Mike glanced at his boss, who nodded, "Go, go. We can finish this later."

Walking quickly, Mike followed Steve down the hallway to the stairwell. "Who is it?"

Unable to stop smiling, Steve didn't look back at his partner as they jogged down the stairs. "It's a cop from Seattle. He says he has some news for you." He tried to sound vague.

"News? I wonder if it's about Abbott?" Mike mused almost to himself, breaking into a trot as they approached the Homicide Bureau.

Beaming, supportive looks followed the lieutenant as he crossed the squad room and entered his office, picking up the receiver lying on the desk even before he sat. "Homicide, Lieutenant Stone."

"Hello, Lieutenant….?" came a tentative young voice from the other end.

"Yes?"

"Uh, Lieutenant, this is, ah, this is David Abbott. I hear you've been looking for me."

# # # # #

Mike was sitting back in his chair, his left foot up on the lower desk drawer, a coffee cup cradled in both hands. Steve was slouched in the guest chair, his feet on the desk. Healey and Tanner leaned against the filing cabinet, Lessing sat on the corner of the desk and Hasseejian was holding up the doorframe, all with their own cups. Mike was in mid-story.

"So this street cop in Seattle, he's walking around with our APB in his pocket and his beat happens to be downtown where a lot of those, uh, oh, what do they call them, Steve?"

"Buskers."

"Right, yeah, buskers were 'performing' or whatever the hell they do, and he thinks he recognizes Abbott from our photo. Now the kid had cut his hair and died it red," Mike's eyebrows shot up and the others laughed, "but this patrolman, somehow he recognized him. I gotta send that guy a bottle," Mike laughed.

"So how did he recognize him?" Lessing asked with a chuckle.

Mike shook his head in amazement. "I have no idea. This guy is good. We should see if he wants to move here," he said with a snicker.

"Well, I gotta tell you, this was the one part of this case that really bothered me," said Haseejian from the doorway. "I always felt that this kid was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and I gotta admit, I really thought Madsen had off'd him. I am so glad I was wrong."

"Me too," said Healey, raising his cup in a toast.

"Here, here," they all chimed in.

"So what's next in all this?" asked Tanner.

"Well, Abbott's coming here to testify and that pretty well puts the nail in Madsen's coffin, so, by and large, this is all behind us." Mike raised his cup again. "Gentlemen, you've all done a brilliant job with this, especially you Norm, Dan. _Pozdrav!"_

The others, holding their cups up, paused and looked at each other.

Mike sighed. "Salute!" he translated with a laugh and they all joined him.

# # # # #

"So what time again are you getting 'dewired' tomorrow?" Mike asked as the LTD turned onto De Haro.

"Ten," Steve said as he gunned the car up the street, the tires slipping on the pavement markings in the heavy rain.

"Right," Mike acknowledged as he did up the top button on his black topcoat. He peered out the windshield again. "Geez, it doesn't look like this is gonna let up anytime soon, does it?"

"I think it's supposed to rain all night."

Mike glanced at the dashboard clock. "It's almost nine. It would be nice to get home in daylight once this week."

The LTD swung to the curb and Mike opened his door. "I'll see ya tomorrow," he said as he got out, "pick me up at 9 and we'll go to your doctor together, okay?"

"Nine? Mike, nine's too early. I don't have to be there till –"

"Nine!" Mike insisted with a laugh as he slammed the door and turned to the steps.

Neither of them saw the black-clad figure that exited a car parked a little further down the block then stride quickly across the sidewalk to behind Mike. The detective, turning his collar up against the rain, had just put his foot on the first step when a voice behind him yelled, "Lieutenant!" He turned quickly, his eyes instantly snapping to the barrel of the gun aimed at his chest. Before he could move again, the trigger was pulled. The impact threw Mike back against the railing then he crumpled to the sidewalk at the foot of the steps.


	20. Chapter 20

Catching Mike's sudden movement from the corner of his eye, Steve's head snapped around in time to see his partner slammed back against the stair railing and collapse to the sidewalk. In one motion he threw the car into park and opened the door, tearing his gun from its holster as he sprinted around the front of the car, screaming "Drop the gun! Drop the gun!" over and over again.

The shooter, face obscured by the hood of the black sweatshirt, had remained where he was, kneeling slowly to put the gun on the sidewalk then raising his arms to interlock his fingers and lay his hands on top of his head.

Steve, his .38 pointed at the shooter's head, kicked the gun away then moved quickly behind him, blinking rapidly in the pouring rain as he snapped the cuffs off the back of his belt, his eyes flicking back and forth to the unmoving body of his partner. Peripherally he became aware of a car squealing to a stop in the middle of the street, and suddenly Norm Haseejian was at his side.

"I got this, Steve," he heard the Armenian detective shout over the rain, his gun out and eyes on the shooter, "get to Mike!"

Steve holstered his .38 as he sprinted the short distance to his partner, skidding to a stop and kneeling on the wet pavement. He could hear himself repeating Mike's name over and over as he quickly assessed the fallen man. Mike was on his right side, his upper body twisted so that he was lying facedown. Miraculously, his hat was still on.

Steve reached down and gently began to roll his partner onto his lap. Mike's eyes were closed, and Steve gasped when his eyes fell on the small circular hole in the black topcoat directly over his heart.

"An ambulance is on it's way," Steve heard Dan Healey announce breathlessly as the sergeant suddenly appeared over his shoulder. "How is he?" Healey froze when he too saw the hole in the black material. "Aw shit," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"It was too close, Dan, way, way too close," Steve mumbled unsteadily as his shaking hands reached for the buttons on the topcoat and began to undo them. He pulled the coat open, revealing an identical round hole in Mike's red-striped tie and the blue-and white shirt underneath. "No, no, no," he repeated under his breath as he flipped the tie out of the way then grabbed the plackets of the shirt and ripped them open, popping the buttons.

"Oh god," Steve breathed, almost in relief as their eyes fell on the rim of a bullet lodged in the mesh of the black bulletproof vest. Mike groaned faintly, and Steve's eyes snapped to his face. "Mike? Mike, can you hear me?"

Healey had taken off his raincoat and lain one end of it over Steve's shoulders and head, holding the other side up so it formed a canopy over the partners. A black-and-white had arrived, and Haseejian, shaking in anger, turned the shooter over to the patrolmen as he joined his partner and colleagues. The distant wail of the approaching ambulance could be heard.

"How is he?" Haseejian asked anxiously, watching as Steve leaned closer to his partner.

"Mike? An ambulance is coming…you're gonna be okay," he was whispering urgently, having carefully pulled the older man into his arms.

Haseejian found Mike's left hand and grabbed it, squeezing with all his might, putting his other hand on Steve's shoulder. "We're with you, Mike, you're gonna be okay," he reiterated, his own heart pounding, tears in his eyes.

Mike's head moved and his eyes opened slightly. Haseejian felt Steve's chest heave under his touch. Mike lips moved but they couldn't hear anything; Steve leaned closer, tilting his head. "I…I can't breathe…"

Steve's head came up slightly. "He can't breathe," he said quickly. Healey leaned in a little closer. "Mike," he said with a firm tone, "breathe shallow but fast, like this" he demonstrated, glancing quickly at Steve and Haseejian. "It's how they get pregnant women to breathe during contractions, it works," he said earnestly, and they all watched as Mike closed his eyes and followed Healey's example. Steve felt his partner relax slightly in his arms.

They could hear the ambulance squeal to a stop on the street. Mike opened his eyes, staring anxiously at Steve, who leaned closer again. "Steve, don't leave me, please…" he whispered.

Steve sat back a bit and smiled warmly, biting his lip "I was just about to say the same thing to you." He felt Haseejian's fingers dig into his shoulder.

A gurney was pulled to a stop beside them, the attendant leaning over to see his patient. "Okay, let me have a look," he said quickly and Haseejian backed away to make room.

Steve looked up. "He's wearing a vest but he took a shot –"

"A .38," Haseejian interjected.

"- from about three feet away, right to the chest, over his heart." Steve's voice was shaky.

The attendant turned to his own partner. "This is going to be a scoop and run," he said quickly as they flipped the straps down and locked the wheels. Healey stood up, removing his coat from over Steve's head, and taking a step back. The two attendants took positions on either side of Steve and, with assistance from the sergeants, swiftly and efficiently lifted Mike and laid him on the gurney. As they unlocked the wheels, Haseejian quickly reached for Mike's hand again. As he and Steve jogged alongside the gurney towards the ambulance, it's back doors wide open in the middle of the street, he grabbed Steve's hand and put Mike's in it. As Steve stepped up into the ambulance alongside the gurney, Haseejian said sternly, "Don't let him go."

Its siren blaring, the ambulance screamed down De Haro and around the corner. Haseejian and Healey stood in the middle of the street in the pouring rain, watching it go. Healey slowly shrugged his soaking topcoat back on over his wet suit. As the siren faded away, they turned their attention to the figure in the back seat of the squad car.

Through the rain-streaked windows they could see the dead, unfocused eyes of Patrick Garrity, staring in their direction but looking right through them. Healey took a deep angry breath. "Did he say anything?"

"Yeah," snapped Haseejian, trying to control his own rage, "he said, 'He ruined my life; I just ruined his.'" He felt Healey tense up beside him.

"What say you open that back door and leave me alone with him for five minutes?" the Irish detective said flatly, staring at the figure in the black-and-white. He felt Haseejian's hand on his forearm.

"If only it was that easy."

# # # # #

Captain Olsen strode anxiously into the waiting room. "Any news yet?" he asked no one in particular. The detectives in the room, all crowded into one corner, shook their heads, saying nothing. Healey was in his shirtsleeves, his topcoat on the rack with Haseejian's, his suit jacket on the back of his chair, drying. Both his and Haseejian's hair were still wet.

Olsen dropped into a chair with a worried sigh. "What the hell happened?"

"Garrity came out of nowhere," Healey said, rubbing a hand over his face, "he must've been sitting in his car waiting for Mike to show up. Thank god for the vest."

"Vest? What vest?" Olsen asked with a frown, and the four detectives in the room looked at each other.

Haseejian chuckled slightly. "You didn't know? Well, after Mike's little one-on-one with Garrity in the office a few weeks ago, Steve insisted Mike start wearing a vest. He resisted, of course, but Steve talked him into wearing it back and forth to work."

"But he almost wasn't wearing it tonight," Tanner said with a disbelieving shake of his head.

"Why?"

"Well," Haseejian answered, "yesterday there was almost a knock-down-drag-out in the office. Mike told Steve he was fed up with the vest and it wasn't necessary anymore, and they both got into this huge argument about it. Mike wouldn't back down, but ah, well," he paused and looked at the others and everyone smiled slightly, "we all kinda ganged up on him and told him we'd tell the brass on him if he didn't keep wearing it till the trial was over. He, ah, he 'saw the light' so to speak and agreed to wear it for one more week. We were gonna go after him again when the week was up…"

"Well, ah," Olsen began into the uncomfortable silence, "thank god he was wearing one. You said he was awake at the scene."

"Yeah," said Healey with an encouraging nod, "he was awake and talking but in a hell of a lot of pain. But there was no blood, which is a good sign, I think."

Olsen nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good," he said quietly, almost to himself.

Lessing looked up from where he was sitting. "I just wish they'd tell us something," he said, frustration evident in his tone.

Almost as if he'd been conjured, a white-coated doctor appeared in the doorway. His eyes travelled around the room and settled on the weary, worried-looking men in suits in the far corner. He approached them with what appeared to be a slight smile. "It's not hard to figure out who's here with Lieutenant Stone," he said lightly.

They all scrambled to their feet and Olsen crossed to the doctor with his hand out. "I'm Captain Olsen," he introduced himself, shaking hands, "how's the lieutenant?"

Realizing the cops needed information on their colleague more than his name, the doctor smiled, "The lieutenant is one lucky man. That bulletproof vest saved his life tonight, without a doubt. Now he didn't come out of this unscathed; we're gonna be keeping him here for a couple of days, but he should make a complete recovery with no lingering effects."

"How bad was he hurt?" asked Healey.

"Well, nothing was broken, remarkably enough, but his sternum and several ribs are very badly bruised, and he has a bruised heart."

There was a sharp intake of breath and several of the cops looked at each other. "A bruised heart?" Haseejian whispered. "I've never heard of that."

"It's more common that you might think," the doctor offered, "but we usually see it in car accidents. And it's exactly what is says – the heart muscle has been bruised, and quite badly in this case. Usually they heal by themselves in time, and that's what we're hoping for here. The lieutenant is going to have to take it easy for several weeks to allow that to happen, but other than that, nothing special needs to be done.

"What we're going to do for him right now is we're going to keep him in ICU for the next 48 hours. We have him hooked up to an EKG monitor and we'll keep a close eye on him for anything that'll tell us his heart is not functioning normally, like an irregular heartbeat. If after 48 hours all remains normal, he'll be released. Ah, we usually only keep bruised heart patients hooked up for 24 hours but because of the lieutenant's age…"

"For god's sake, don't tell him that," Haseejian said quickly with a chuckle and the other followed suit, the little bit of levity allowing them all to relax.

"He's really gonna be okay?" Healey asked, his furrowed brow underlining his concern.

The doctor nodded with a propitious smile. "From what I've seen, your lieutenant will be going back to work sooner than you think. Like I said, he's a very lucky man." He glanced at his watch. "Once he gets settled into ICU, and we get his partner settled in as well because something tells me we're not going to be able to separate those two for next couple of days," the detectives chuckled again, "we can allow a couple of you gents in to see him, but that might not be before morning."

"That's okay with us," Haseejian said with a relieved smile, "we can wait."


	21. Chapter 21

A very weary but relieved-looking Steve Keller walked into the waiting room a little after 4 a.m. Healey was the first to notice, and he barely suppressed his enthusiastic "Hey, Steve!" in the otherwise silent room. The others snapped awake.

Haseejian jumped to his feet and approached their younger colleague. He took Steve's arm and led him to an empty chair as the others gathered around. "How are you doin'?" the Armenian detective asked gently. "How's Mike?"

Steve rubbed a hand over his stubble, unable to conceal a happy smile. "He's doing great, he really is. He's sleeping right now but when he wakes up, we'll have you guys in to see him."

"He's really doin' okay?" asked Healey with a worried frown.

"Dan, he's doin' terrific, really. I sorta knew he was gonna be okay in the ambulance," Steve said with a slight chuckle.

"What do you mean?" asked Tanner with a confused smile.

Steve chuckled again. "He overheard the attendant telling me they wouldn't take the vest off until they got him into Emergency and Mike asked me to tell them not to cut his suit off because he'd already lost one a few weeks ago."

The others laughed, more in relief than anything else. "Yeah, he's okay," Haseejian nodded, as he slipped an arm around Steve's shoulders and squeezed. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, then Haseejian said to Steve, "Say, you're supposed to get your wires out today, aren't you?"

Steve nodded, "Yeah, but I'm gonna ask them to postpone it. I don't wanna leave Mike right now. I can wait a few days."

Healey snorted. "Mike might not like that," he said with a smile. "Why don't you let him decide?"

Steve looked at Healey quizzically, seeming to think about it. "Maybe you're right, Dan; I'll tell him the decision is his – he'll like that." Steve smiled slightly, then let his head drop, and he took a deep unsteady breath. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes, and he stared at Haseejian and Healey. "I want to thank you guys for being there tonight, I don't know what I've would've done if you weren't there."

Haseejian, perched on the arm of Steve's chair, glanced guiltily at Healey and then back at Steve. "We should've been there sooner. We followed you guys from the shop, because Dan lives, you know, close to Mike, but when you turned onto De Haro, we almost went on. But Dan had this bad feeling," he paused and looked at his partner and Steve followed his gaze.

Healey cleared his throat self-consciously. "I don't know what it was, Steve, but ever since we left the shop in the rain, I just had this feeling. I told Norm that I thought if Garrity was gonna do something, it would probably be tonight, you know, in the rain, when none of us was expecting anything…" He paused and sighed sadly. "We shoulda been closer behind you, then we might've seen him get out of his car or whatever he did to get so close to Mike so fast."

Steve put his hand on Healey's forearm. "Dan, I don't think there was anything we could have done, we were just unlucky tonight. But I'm so grateful we were able to convince him to keep wearing the vest." He smiled up at them then looked at his watch. "Look, ah, I'm just gonna get a coffee and go back in."

"You're not going anywhere until he gets out of here, right?" Haseejian asked with an appreciative smile.

Steve snorted self-consciously and cleared his throat, then nodded slightly.

Haseejian held out his hand. "Give me your keys. We'll stop by your place and pick you up some stuff. I'm thinking Mike doesn't really need anything, right?"

"Yeah," said Steve sardonically, "I don't think he's gonna be brushing his teeth much in the next couple of days. If you could bring my electric razor, I can use it on him if the doctors say it's okay."

Haseejian took a deep breath. "Look, we probably can't get in to see Mike for a few hours, right, so Dan and I'll go home and grab a few winks and get changed, pick up some stuff from your place and be back here to see Mike sometime later this morning, okay?" He glanced at Healey and received a confirming nod.

Steve smiled. "That sounds great, thanks. And thanks to all of you guys for hanging in here tonight, Mike'll appreciate it."

Haseejian, suddenly unable to restrain himself, hooked an arm gently around Steve's neck, avoiding his jaw, and pulled him close, planting a big kiss on the top of Steve's head as the others laughed.

"Steve, we wouldn't be anywhere else," Healey said, his voice cracking. "You can't imagine how relieved we are that things have turned out like they have. I honest to god thought we lost him tonight." He looked up at his partner. "Come on, you crazy Armenian, let's get out of here."

# # # # #

On a bed raised at a 45-degree angle, hooked up to a 12-lead electrocardiogram and a three-lead heart monitor, an IV line in his left arm and his face obscured under an oxygen mask, Mike Stone lay eerily still, the large bruise on his chest a disturbing deep purple. The recent still-red scar stood out vividly on his right shoulder.

A cardboard coffee cup in his hand, Steve slipped quietly back into the ICU cubicle and into the armchair, once more taking comfort in the regular beeping of the heart monitor. He glanced at the rhythm strip that constantly emerged from the electrocardiogram then back to the bed, surprised to see Mike's eyes slightly open. He stood and leaned over the bed, grinning happily. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

Mike blinked, his eyes moving slowly in Steve's direction He nodded sluggishly, a slight smile appearing under the oxygen mask.

Steve put his coffee up on the side table and began to take off the mask. "They told me I could take this off to make it easier for you to talk," he explained as he gently stretched the elastic and eased the mask upwards. He laid it on the side of the bed.

"It still hurts like hell," Mike whispered slowly and carefully, trying not to take a deep breath.

"Yeah, well, the pain medications can only do so much," Steve commiserated. "But, hey, it could've been a whole lot worse." He smiled.

Mike smiled back. "Yeah. I, ah, I want to apologize…about the vest. Thanks for being so stubborn."

"Well, I learned from the best, right?" He laid his right hand gently on the top of Mike's head then smiled again. "We both need a shave."

They stared at each other for several seconds. Eventually Mike asked quietly, "It _was_ Garrity, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

Mike closed his eyes. Steve stood straighter, removing his hand from Mike's head. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. Mike opened his eyes again and smiled. "Hey, I forgot, you're getting your jaw unwired this morning, right?"

Swallowing, Steve shook his head. "I'm gonna ask them to postpone it so I can stay here with you."

"No," Mike said with as much force behind his voice as he could muster, "that's dumb. I'm not going anywhere and it's here in this hospital, right?" On Steve's nod he continued, "Go, please, for me. I want to see you wire-free." He chuckled carefully, smiling.

Grinning himself, Steve nodded. "Alright, alright, I'll go. It should only be a couple of hours anyway; they told me it takes about an hour to take off the wires and bands." He rubbed his eyes and laughed quietly. "I hope Norm gets here in time with my electric razor. I'd rather not show up looking like I spent the night on the street."

"The fellas are here?"

"Yeah, Norm, Dan, Bill, Lee; they've been here all night. Rudy turned up an hour or so ago. I think they're all gonna go home for awhile then come back to see you during visiting hours. So far they're the only ones that have shown up – I don't think word has gotten around to everyone yet."

Mike frowned. "Aw, I don't want everybody here," he groaned, "it's not like I was shot, for god's sake."

Steve looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Really?" he said sarcastically, looking pointedly at the wires and tubes attached to the bedridden man.

"You know what I mean."

"Well, it's out of my hands," Steve chuckled. He paused, then asked quietly, "Are you gonna call Jeannie?"

Mike cleared his throat carefully. "I, ah, I've been thinking about that. I really don't want to, especially not after we didn't quite tell her the truth the last time." He closed his eyes and winced, and Steve laid a hand on his forearm. "Let me decide that in the next couple of days, okay? She's not expecting to hear from me anytime soon."

"That sounds good to me. Do you want some ice chips?"

Eyes still closed, Mike nodded.

# # # # #

Paperwork in hand, opening and closing his now free jaw slightly, Steve strode into the waiting room on his way to ICU and stopped abruptly. Olsen, Haseejian and Healey were sitting in the corner. Steve changed direction and approached them with a smile. "What are you guys still doing here?" he asked pleasantly, then froze at their grim expressions. "Rudy, what's going on?" he asked slowly, trepidation suddenly colouring his voice.

Olsen glanced up but couldn't seem to speak.

Haseejian stood and approached his junior colleague, laying a gentle hand on his forearm. "Sit down," he said quietly.

"Norm..?"

Haseejian glanced at Healey then turned back to Steve. "They've taken Mike into the OR."

Steve's world suddenly narrowed, his vision now a point right before his eyes; blood pounded in his skull and his knees buckled slightly. He had to swallow before he could ask breathlessly, "What happened?"

Haseejian's head dropped and he seemed to try to pull himself together. When he looked back up, there were tears in his eyes. "His heart stopped."


	22. Chapter 22

The room spun. Haseejian grabbed Steve's arms to steady him, manoeuvering him closer to a chair. Healey jumped to his feet and together they helped the younger man sit. Healey took the papers from Steve's hand as Haseejian sat in the chair beside him, one hand on his back.

His voice shaking and his eyes stricken, Steve asked again, "What happened?", one hand over his mouth.

The Armenian sergeant shook his head. "We're not sure, Steve, a nurse just came in to tell us that he was being rushed into surgery and that, ah, that he'd gone into cardiac arrest."

Steve's head dropped and his put his hands over his face, gasping for air. "I don't understand, he was doing okay when I left…" He could feel Haseejian rubbing his back. "This can't be happening," he whispered then looked up again. "How long ago…?"

Healey glanced at his watch. "About half an hour." His voice was steady but his partner could hear the anger in his words and glanced up, worry furrowing his brow. They made momentary eye contact and Healey nodded curtly, dismissing the concern. Haseejian's attention returned to Steve, who had hung his head again and was struggling to breathe normally.

Olsen whispered, "He'll be okay," but no one seemed to share his desperate optimism. A grim reality seemed to settle over the small group of police officers, numb with shock and worry, as the silence lengthened and the minutes crawled by.

"Inspector Keller?"

Steve felt his arm being jostled, and he looked up through a fog at a white-coated older man standing over him. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

"Inspector Keller, I'm Doctor Nugent, the Head of Cardiology. I've been looking after your partner."

The words slowly sinking in, Steve got shakily to his feet, Haseejian and Healey on either side, and held out his hand. With a warm smile, the doctor took Steve's hand and shook it. "Have a seat, please," Nugent said, gesturing at the chair Steve had just vacated, noting how unsteady the young man looked. Haseejian moved aside and the doctor sat as well.

"Before I get into details, Inspector, I want to reassure you that your partner is doing very well and his prognosis is excellent."

"But they said his heart stopped…" Steve got out shakily.

Nugent's head wobbled and he smiled vaguely. "Well, not quite," he said soothingly. "Let me explain. Your partner –"

"Mike," Steve interjected, " his name is Mike."

"Right, Mike," Nugent's smile grew a little bigger, "he developed what we call a cardiac tamponade. That means that the sac that covers the heart, the pericardium, fills with liquid, blood in this case, that impedes the ability of the heart to continue to pump. Now, it wasn't totally surprising, given the severity of the bruising that his heart suffered, and we were monitoring him for it… What happened, from what we know at the moment, is that the slow seepage of blood into the pericardium suddenly increased, for reasons we're still not sure of, and his heart stopped beating."

Steve inhaled raggedly, not taking his eyes from the doctor's face.

Continuing to smile encouragingly, Nugent went on. "He was hooked up to all those monitors for a reason, and we were alerted right away. He was in the OR within seconds and we did what's called a pericardiocentesis. It's when we use a large-bore needle to pierce the wall of the pericardium, the sac around the heart, and drain the fluid that's in there.

"It's a fairly common procedure, and I've done it many times over the years. And the procedure I did on your – on Mike went like clockwork. It was textbook and completely successful. The moment enough blood was drained, his heart started pumping on it's own again, which is exactly what we wanted."

"You put a needle into his heart?" Haseejian asked in an amazed whisper.

Nugent looked up at the others. "Into the sac _around_ his heart, yes. The needle is inserted into the center of the chest just below the sternum at a 45 degree angle up towards the left shoulder." Seeing the winces on their faces, Nugent decided he had been graphic enough and turned his attention back to Steve, whose eyes had never left the doctor's face.

"Mike'll be on his way back to ICU in about an hour, and I'm afraid he's going to be there for quite a bit longer than we'd originally thought. As well as everything went just now, it was still a major episode and he is going to have to be monitored extremely closely for the next several days. We've put a catheter in and there's a tube in his chest now that will help drain the pericardium for the next 24 hours or so; we have to make sure all the blood has been removed, and because we're not a hundred percent sure of the exact source of the bleeding as yet, this will help ensure that a tamponade won't occur again.

"If we're lucky, the bleeding _was_ caused by the bruising and what happened just now will be the last of it. But we're gonna keep a close eye on him to make sure that's the case. In the event that the bleeding had another cause, well, then there's the chance he'll have to undergo heart surgery, but until we know for sure otherwise, we're proceeding on the assumption that the bruising _was_ the cause of the bleeding."

"Is he awake?" Steve asked hopefully.

Nugent shook his head. "Pericardiocentesis is a very painful procedure so we're going to keep him under sedation for the next day or so for his comfort. But, Inspector –"

"Steve, please, call me Steve."

"Alright, Steve, thank you – that doesn't mean you can't stay with him. As a matter of fact, I think you being with him will do you both a lot of good." Nugent glanced up at Olsen and the others. "I know you're all very worried, but let me reassure you, your colleague is doing very well and he's come out of this unfortunate episode as well as can be expected. I'm very optimistic for his full recovery." He stood, and Steve followed suit. But instead of shaking Steve's hand again, he reached out and laid a comforting hand on his arm. "I'll send someone to get you when we get him settled back into ICU, okay?"

As Steve nodded gratefully, he felt hands on his back, and his shoulder was gripped and he was shaken in relief. For the first time, he allowed himself a slight smile. "Thank you, Doctor Nugent, thank you."

"My pleasure, believe me," the doctor said with a smile. "Gentlemen," he nodded as he turned and left the room.

Steve watched him go, then felt himself being turned around and Haseejian enveloped him in a gentle bear hug.

# # # # #

Steve stood immobile beside the bed. Remarkably, Mike looked substantially the same as when he had been there last, but now there was an organized jumble of tubes and connectors taped to his belly and chest. The catheter emerged from a small incision just below his sternum, held in place by two sutures and surgical tape, the clear plastic tubes snaking up the left side of his chest then across his stomach to drain into a vial on the right side of the bed.

Not sure how he felt, Steve blinked several times to clear his eyes then sat slowly, laying a hand on Mike's arm, reveling in the warmth of the touch. He closed his eyes, listening to the steady beeping of the heart monitor, trying to calm his own pounding heart. Eventually he sat back in the armchair, sliding his hand from Mike's arm to interlace his fingers with his partner's. Settling in, he finally allowed himself a relieved smile and squeezed Mike's hand a little harder.

# # # # #

The uniformed sergeant looked up and nodded, tossing the magazine onto the table as he got up and walked to door, the visitor following silently behind him. He took out a raft of keys on a large ring, selected the right one and inserted it into the lock. As they entered the darkened room, the sergeant closed the door behind them.

They walked the short corridor and stopped in front of a cell. A large key was located and the barred door unlocked and opened. The visitor strolled casually into the cell, the door was closed and locked, and the sergeant walked back down the corridor, letting himself out. The visitor could hear that door being locked once again.

The occupant of the cell was sitting on the bench with his knees pulled up and his head down. When neither moved nor spoke, the inmate finally lifted his head. A sneer slowly twisted his features and, with calculated insolence, he got to his feet. "What the hell are you doing here?" Garrity snorted derisively.

The visitor unhurriedly took off his jacket, turned and slipped it over a bar in the cell wall, then slowly began to roll up his sleeves. Garrity's suddenly nervous eyes flicked from the visitor to the cell door and back again. "What the hell is going on here?"

The visitor turned to his coat and took a pair of black gloves out of a pocket. Staring at the increasingly nervous inmate, he slipped them on, flexing his fingers.

Garrity backed up into the corner, his eyes wide and feral. "What's going on?!"

Grinning coldly, the visitor walked slowly across the cell.

# # # # #

The waiting room was half-full of uniformed and plainclothes police officers when Healey and Tanner returned late in the afternoon. They found Lessing in the far corner and approached him with worried frowns.

"What's the latest?" Tanner asked as they got closer.

Lessing looked up from the magazine he was reading. "Hey, you guys were gone a long time."

"Yeah, well, we had some stuff to look after," Healey explained vaguely as he sunk into the chair beside the young inspector. "Heard anything new?"

Lessing shook his head. "Not really. Steve was in here a little while ago. He said Mike's the same, which I guess is a good thing. He looks like crap, Steve I mean. I wish we could get him to go home and get some sleep but that's not gonna happen."

Tanner produced the large paper bag from behind his back. "We got sandwiches from Mario's. There's enough for our guys and Steve." Before Lessing could say anything, he held up a hand. "I know, I know, he just got his jaw unwired. I read the sheets they gave him. He can eat soft stuff, so I got him a peanut butter sandwich. I'm pretty sure he can eat that."

The others chuckled as Tanner reached into the bag and began to take the sandwiches out.

"Hey, it's about time you guys got back, where the hell did you go?" Haseejian's voice sailed over the murmur in the room and they looked up as he approached with two cans of Coke in his hands. He handed one to Lessing. "Hey, Mario's! Did you -?"

"Get enough for everybody? Yes," Tanner cut him off with a chuckle. "Even Steve."

"Great," said Haseejian, handing the second Coke to Healey. "I'll go get everyone drinks. Anything in particular?" he asked, starting to turn away.

"I was hoping to find you all here," Rudy Olsen said breathlessly as he approached them at a rapid pace and pulled himself up. They all turned quickly, concerned by the captain's sudden appearance and harried look.

"What's going on, Captain?" Healey asked.

Olsen took a second to catch his breath, his eyes raking them over with worry and uncertainty. "I just got a call. Garrity was found beaten to death in a cell at Bryant Street."


	23. Chapter 23

"What?" Tanner stopped in mid-motion, his hand still inside the bag of sandwiches.

Haseejian spun back towards Olsen, and Healey and Lessing froze where they sat.

The captain looked angrily from one detective to the other, meeting all four pairs of eyes before he spoke again. "Garrity's dead. He was beaten to death in a cell on the seventh floor at Bryant Street about an hour ago." He took a deep steadying breath. "I, ah, I don't have to worry about any of you guys, do I?" he asked hesitantly, his tone bordering on apologetic.

Everyone shifted slightly, Haseejian and Lessing in annoyance, Tanner and Healey in anger. "What are you suggesting, Captain?" Healey snapped.

"Dan," Haseejian warned, keeping his eyes on Olsen. "What happened?"

Obviously frustrated, Olsen inhaled deeply. "Garrity's body was found in one of those unused segregated holding cells on the top floor, you guys know the ones. He'd been beaten to death; the ME thinks with fists but he's not gonna be sure until he's finished the autopsy."

"How did he get in there?" Tanner asked, still trying to control his irritation. "Where was the sergeant on duty?"

"We haven't got all the information yet; I was told Shepherd was on duty, but that hasn't been confirmed. And so far no one has any idea what Garrity was doing up there."

"And you think one of us had something to do with this?" Healey asked with barely suppressed animus.

Olsen and Healey locked eyes, neither blinking. "We're gonna need to know where each one of you was during the last four hours," the captain stated flatly. "But it's not gonna be me – IA is already involved. They're going to be getting in touch with you as soon as they can, so you better get ready to head back to the shop." He paused, once more looking all four of them in the eyes. "Please tell me I have nothing to worry about."

No one answered him.

# # # # #

Steve came awake slowly. He shifted slightly in the armchair, working the kinks out of his neck before he opened his eyes and looked at the bed. The steady beeping of the heart monitor was a comforting reminder that all was, thankfully, well. Mike was still sedated, looking almost peaceful, his chest rising and falling with an assuaging rhythm. There seemed to be no blood in the pericardial catheter tubes, which was a good sign, he thought.

With one last squeeze, Steve unlaced his fingers from his partner's and ran his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes. He sat forward in the chair and stretched his back muscles, then stood slowly. He leaned over the bed and laid a hand lightly on the top of Mike's head. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he whispered, then turned and left the small room.

Trying to stifle a yawn, he walked into the waiting room, expecting to find a few of his colleagues still sitting vigil. Instead he spotted a uniformed sergeant sitting in the far corner, reading a magazine. "Phil," Steve called as he approached, and the older man's head came up, "where is everybody?"

Sergeant Franklin tossed the magazine on a nearby table. "Steve," he said as he got to his feet, "Rudy asked me to stay here in case you came out. They all had to go back to the shop, somethin's come up. I'm not sure what, but it sounded pretty serious."

Steve frowned. "Oh, okay," he said slowly. "Did he ask me to call in or anything?"

"Nope, not that I was told. I got the feeling that he was gonna come back and tell you himself, but I could be wrong. Sorry. He, ah, he wasn't very forthcoming, if you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I do," Steve chuckled dryly. "Okay, thanks." He sounded confused. As he turned away, Franklin stopped him.

"How's Mike doing?"

"Oh, ah, he's doing great. Everything looks good, so – fingers crossed, hunh?"

"That's terrific. I'll pass the word."

"Yeah, do that. Thanks again, Phil." Brow furrowed, Steve slowly crossed the room and headed towards the cafeteria, worry and perplexity moderating his steps.

# # # # #

Slumped in the armchair, a coffee on the table beside him and a magazine balanced against the knee of his crossed leg, Steve Keller glanced up at the bed as he turned a page. The soft clearing of a throat from the doorway caught his attention and he looked up to see a nervous-looking Rudy Olsen standing there.

Olsen's eyes snapped from the bed to Steve. "He, ah, he looks pretty good," he said, nodding slightly at Mike and trying hard to smile.

Steve snapped the magazine shut, tossed it on the floor and stood. "Yeah, he's doing great. They told me they're gonna take the catheter out tomorrow morning, on schedule, which is a good sign. Then they'll wake him up and I'll give him a shave," he finished with an affectionate chuckle.

Olsen had crossed slowly to the far side of the bed, his sad eyes never leaving his injured lieutenant. He was nodding slowly. "God, things can go so badly, so fast, can't they?" he said quietly, almost to himself. He reached out and gently laid his hand on Mike's forearm.

Steve eyed him worriedly. "Rudy, is there something you need to talk to me about?" he asked softly.

"Hmm?" Olsen pulled his eyes away from Mike and looked at the younger man. "Ah, yeah, um, lets go for a walk." It seemed to take effort to pull himself away from the bed and walk back towards the door, Steve in his wake.

They had passed through the waiting room and into the corridor near the elevators. Steve was waiting for Olsen to begin, and was surprised when the older man punched the elevator button.

They eventually strolled out the front entrance of the hospital into a bright sunny afternoon. Steve squinted, suddenly realizing it had been over twenty-four hours since he had left the confines of the ICU.

Finally away from hospital staff and visitors, Olsen turned to his young inspector. He took a deep breath. "Garrity was beaten to death last night in a cell at Bryant Street."

Steve took a step back, unable to mask his shock. "What?!"

Olsen nodded, unable to make eye contact.

"Um, ah, when?"

"This morning, when you were getting your jaw done."

Hands on his hips, Steve backed away and half turned, trying to put this new information into some kind of perspective. "What do you mean he was beaten to death? By who? Another inmate?"

"We don't know by who yet, but we do know it wasn't another inmate," Olsen said, looking down.

Steve stopped moving and stared at the captain's downturned head. Several seconds passed before he said softly, "What are you trying to tell me, Rudy?"

Olsen closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, then raised his head. "It wasn't another inmate," he said again, this time with more emphasis.

Steve eyed him evenly. "You think it was one of our guys." It was a statement, not a question, and it was spoken in accusation.

Olsen met his stare. "I don't know who it was right now. I'm just telling you who we know _didn't_ do it."

Steve snorted. "You really think one of our guys is capable of doing _that_?"

"I think anybody is capable of anything if they're pushed far enough."

Taking a deep breath, Steve looked away, a hand coming up to run across his face.

He took a couple of deep breaths then nodded slowly. "What do you need from me?" His tone was conciliatory, realizing the harrowing predicament into which the older man had been thrust.

Relieved, Olsen's rigid posture relaxed slightly and he almost smiled. "Just, ah, just stay with Mike for next day or so, stay away from the office and, ah, just try not to have any contact with anyone from the department until we get a handle on this, okay? We don't know where it's gonna go and I'd just as well not have you two involved in it in any way. Okay?"

Sighing sadly, Steve nodded and put a comforting hand on Rudy's shoulder. "Yeah, I can do that."

They stood in silence for several seconds, then Olsen said quietly, "Listen, ah, you better get back to Mike. I gotta get back to the shop." He reached up to put his hand on Steve's cheek, patting him gently. "You look a lot better without all that wire in your mouth," he said with a smile, then slid his hand around to the back of Steve's neck and shook him slightly, as he had seen Mike do. "When he wakes up tomorrow morning, tell him we're all pulling for him, alright?"

# # # # #

He looked at himself in the mirror. His jaw was back to normal but he still needed to get his nose fixed; there was an abnormal bump on the bridge. He ran a hand over his now stubble-free cheeks, turning his head back and forth to get a better look at the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't gotten much rest last night; strangely enough though, stretched out over two armchairs under a light blanket had turned out _not_ to be the most uncomfortable place he had ever tried to sleep.

This time it had been his overwrought brain that had kept him awake. Olsen's revelation had shaken him badly; he couldn't conceive that someone he had worked shoulder to shoulder with for so long could or would have the capacity to beat another human being to death.

He turned on the hot water and splashed some over his face, than dried it on the towel he'd thrown over his shoulder. He packed up his toiletries and left the washroom, making his way back across the waiting room and into the ICU cubicle once more.

Dropping his toiletries bag into his carryall near the door, he looked at the bed and smiled. Mike's pericardial drainage catheter had been removed over an hour ago and now a small gauze bandage covered the incision just below his sternum. And, much to Steve's relief, he was showing signs of regaining consciousness.

He sidled up to the head of the bed, and picked up the older man's hand. He sighed quietly and closed his eyes, trying once more to figure out just when and what he would tell his partner about what was happening.

He felt Mike's fingers tighten on his own and he opened his eyes. The older man's blue eyes had opened slightly. Steve gently removed the oxygen mask then laid his hand against Mike's face and stroked his beard-stubbled cheek, knowing the touch would help. Gradually the blue eyes began to focus and Steve leaned over the bed.

Mike's eyes widened, and a slow grin began to build. "Smile," he said, his voice surprisingly strong.

And Steve did.


	24. Chapter 24

Mike smiled warmly. "You look great," he said carefully, trying not to wince. He closed his eyes with a slight moan. "God, how long did I sleep? I feel worse now than I did before." When Steve didn't answer him right away, he opened his eyes again. "What?" he asked, noting his partner's quizzical expression.

"You don't remember what happened?" Steve asked gently, trying not to sound alarmist.

It was Mike's turn to frown. " _What_ happened?"

Steve smiled and swallowed, suddenly not sure how he was going to explain the last thirty-six hours. He sat on the side of the bed and put a hand on Mike's forearm. "The reason you feel so crappy is because you're been sedated for the last day and a half." He paused to let the implications sink in.

"What?"

Steve nodded. "Yesterday morning, just after I left to get my jaw unwired, you had what they called a 'cardiac episode'…"

"I had a heart attack?" Mike asked anxiously.

"No, no, no," Steve assured him rapidly, tightening his grip on Mike's arm. "It wasn't that at all. They explained it as a bleed into the sac around your heart, which caused your heart to stop beating. They said it happened fast, so you probably weren't even aware of it." He could see the apprehension growing in the older man's eyes and he decided to skip to the end and fill the details in later. "You're okay. They got you into the OR quickly and they drained the blood and your heart started beating right away. They kept you sedated because of the discomfort. You're fine, really, you're okay."

He finished in a rush, hoping his words had had the desired effect. Mike was just staring at him, seemingly overwhelmed. After several seconds he asked, his voice low and full of trepidation, " _How_ did they get the blood out?"

Steve cleared his throat, "Well, they used this big needle and they –"

"Okay, okay, ah, maybe when I'm feeling a little better," Mike cut him off, exhaled loudly and closed his eyes, but he was smiling slightly and Steve relaxed.

He turned when he heard a discreet throat clearing from behind. Doctor Nugent was in the doorway, and the older doctor smiled as he entered the room. "Is our patient awake?"

Steve nodded as Mike opened his eyes.

"Ah ha, he is," the grey-haired physician chuckled as he approached the bed. "Mike, I'm Doctor Nugent, I looked after you yesterday. Did your partner explain to you what we had to do?"

"Uh, yeah," Mike said vaguely, glancing at Steve.

"Good for him. I just want to reassure you that you're doing very well, and you'll be out of here in no time. But until then, we want to make sure everything continues to go according to Hoyle, as they say. So, if you'll allow me," he looked pointedly at Steve, who quickly got up from the bed, "I'm just going to give you a quick once-over to make sure everything is on the up-and-up. Is that okay?"

"And I'll get myself a coffee," Steve announced quietly as he backed away from the bed with a smile and turned towards the door. He glanced back to see Dr. Nugent removing a stethoscope from his coat pocket and putting the tips in his ears.

# # # # #

Dan Healey angrily tossed the pen onto his desk and sat back with a frustrated sigh. Haseejian glanced over, sitting back in his own chair. "Wanna talk?"

"About what?" Healey snapped. "About how we've all been raked over the coals for the past twenty-four hours, treated like suspects by our own, and now we're all shackled to our desks until they figure this out?" He snorted. "No, not really."

Haseejian sighed wearily, got up and walked to the coffee pot. "Gee, it's good to know you're not upset over it," he drawled sarcastically as he poured two cups of black coffee and crossed back to Healey's desk, holding one cup out.

Accepting it, Healey chuckled mirthlessly. "Sorry. I just pisses me off that they are so quick to _not_ believe anything we tell them when it comes to something like this. So much for innocent until proven guilty, right?"

Haseejian half-sat on the desk, taking a sip of coffee. "So, you know what we have to do, don't you?" On Healey's raised eyebrows, he continued, "Look, you know they're gonna keep working on making the case that either you or Bill did this, right, so that means Lee and I are gonna get 'absolved' and free to get back to work. So, what say you put all that mental energy you're storing up, the same stuff that uncovered Madsen just days ago, and try to figure this out as well."

Healey sat up a little straighter and the angry frown started to disappear.

Smiling, Haseejian went on "You know that you and Bill are innocent, so then you also know that someone else did it. Do you think IA is going to put as much effort into finding out who really killed Garrity as you would?" He shook his head. "So," he said slowly, as Healey gradually leaned over the desk, a smile starting to build, "why don't you let Lee and I do all the legwork, like getting whatever information you need, and you just stay shackled to your desk here and figure it out; get your own ass out of the frying pan, so to speak?"

Healey looked up at his partner, an appreciative grin now plastered across his face. "You know, sometimes you can be a real mensch, you know that?" Haseejian grinned back and saluted with his cup. "But we really should run this past Rudy first, don't you think? I don't wanna do anything that'll get him into anymore hot water than he already is."

"Good point. Come on," Haseejian stood up, putting his coffee cup on the desk, "let's go see him."

The two homicide detectives turned into the busy corridor leading to their captain's office. Ahead of them, a door opened and a group of people exited into the corridor, one of them Rudy Olsen. His visitors, an older woman and two men, and a younger man and woman in their twenties, turned and started towards them down the hall.

Suddenly the older woman stopped and her eyes widened. She raised her right arm and pointed towards the two homicide detectives. "You!" she screeched. "It was you! You killed my Patrick!"

Haseejian and Healey stopped in their tracks, as did everyone in corridor. She continued to move slowly towards them, her finger still accusing, her shrill voice getting louder and louder. "You killed him! You killed him! You killed my Patrick!"

Her two older male companions crossed to her quickly and took her arms, trying to pull her back. "Maureen, Maureen," they heard one of them intone over and over, trying to get her attention as they almost lifted her, propelling her back down the corridor.

As the small party disappeared, her enraged voice continuing to carry over the sudden babble that erupted in the hallway, Haseejian and Healey approached an obviously upset Olsen. "I guess I don't have to tell you that was Garrity's wife," he said with an angry sigh. "Come on," he gestured towards his office, and the three were relieved to get away from the prying eyes that followed them.

# # # # #

"They told me you're cleared to eat and drink whatever you want," Steve said with a smile as he put a plastic cup on the table, keeping another in his hand as he sat on the side of the bed. "I brought you back a lemonade; I thought you might like to drink something other than water for a change."

Mike smiled. "Thanks." Trying to stifle a pain-filled groan, he leaned forward slightly and Steve held the cup, with a bent straw, so he could take a sip. Finished, he laid back. "That's really good, thanks."

Steve put the cup on the table and picked up his own. "So, what's the verdict? You gonna live?" he asked with a chuckle then took a drink, his eyes laughing over the rim of the cup.

Mike's smile widened and he nodded. "Yes, unfortunately for you, I'm gonna be around for awhile yet. Doctor Nugent, that _is_ his name right?" Steve nodded. "He said everything's great, but they want to keep me for a couple more days just to be sure."

"I don't have a problem with that." Steve's grin disappeared briefly, remembering what Olsen had said about things going so badly so fast.

"I agree," said Mike cautiously, "but, that being said, I don't want you sleeping here anymore, okay? I'll feel a lot better if you go home and get some real sleep, 'cause as great as your new jaw looks, the rest of you looks like hell." He started to chuckle then stopped, catching his breath and wincing. He put his right hand over his heart and closed his eyes.

Steve watched him closely, relaxing when Mike started breathing normally again and opened his eyes, though his hand lingered on his chest.

"Still hurts like hell, hunh?" Mike nodded. "Just keep remembering it could have been a lot worse."

"Hey, don't change the subject – will you go home?" Mike stared at him.

Eventually Steve smiled. "Yes, I promise, I'll go home. But not for a couple of hours, okay? You haven't been very talkative for the past day or so, you know," he chuckled. "And I bet you're hungry. So, I'll make you a deal – tell me what you'd like to eat, and I'll go out and get it, and something soft for me, of course," he sighed dramatically, "and I'll pick up the papers from the last couple of days. Then while we have dinner, I can read you the box scores. What do you think?"

Mike's grin got wider. "That sounds like a perfect afternoon."

# # # # #

A little more than two hours later, both hands holding large paper bags, Steve re-entered the ICU cubicle. His short journey past the nurse's station had caused a lot of heads to turn, and he chuckled. He was leaving a mouth-wateringly delectable trail behind him.

One glance at the bed told him Mike's eyes were closed and he was probably asleep. He stopped just inside the cubicle and with his foot tried, unsuccessfully, to kick the infrequently-used glass door shut. Frustrated, he crossed to the bedside table, put the bags down and returned to the door, finally getting it closed.

He crossed back to the bags, glancing at the bed; Mike's eyes were still closed. He reached into one bag, took out a folded stack of newspapers and tossed them on a nearby chair. Then he reached back into the bag and took out napkins and cutlery. He was just about to lay them out on the overbed table when Mike said quietly, "Emilio's."

Steve froze in mid-motion and grinned, looking at his partner. "Well, there's sure nothing wrong with your nose!" he laughed.

Mike opened his eyes and smiled. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Shaking his head in wonder, and continuing to lay out the cutlery, Steve admitted, "I'm in awe. I should enter you in a contest or something." He started to work on the overbed, lowering it so Mike wouldn't have to reach up very high to eat his dinner.

"Wise guy. But it does smell great and, oh, I really need it," Mike sighed happily. "Hey, I meant to ask earlier, what happened to the guys? You haven't said a word about them. They give up on me, did they?"

Momentarily startled, Steve snorted derisively. "Give up on you? Why, the effrontery!" he scoffed jokingly, trying to find an excuse that would seem plausible, kicking himself that he hadn't prepared an answer, knowing full well that Mike would notice and ask. "Naw, something came up at work, some kind of robbery-homicide overlap on a case and they were all called in for some huge departmental meeting. They expected to be at it all day, but I'm sure one or two of them at least will be by tomorrow." He winced internally, not knowing how plausible it sounded.

"Hunh, I wonder what that's all about," Mike ruminated, and Steve could tell that already he was pining to get back to work.

As he took two cardboard-and-aluminum food containers out of the second bag, Steve said pointedly but sympathetically, "You do know it's going to be quite awhile till they allow you back on the streets, you know? They're not going to take any chances with your bruised heart, you know that, right?"

His eyes travelling slowly from the food containers to his partner, Mike sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly. "I hope they let me go into the office at least. I'll go nuts sitting at home for that long."

"Well, let's leave that for another time – because dinner is served!" Steve announced with a little more force than necessary, hoping to change the subject. With a flourish, he took the cardboard tops off the two aluminum containers. "Ta-da – Emilio's famous ravioli. For both of us – it's soft enough for me and tasty enough for you."

Mike chuckled carefully, looking up at his partner with warmth and affection in his eyes.

"And that's not all," Steve continued theatrically as he reached back into the first bag and produced a squat bottle filled with a purple liquid, and a sleeve of plastic wine glasses. Quickly biting off the end of the sleeve, he pulled out two wine glasses and put them on the overbed. Then he picked up the bottle again and, like a sommelier, held it out for Mike to see. "One of our most popular grape juices, monsieur, vintage, ah," he glanced quickly at the label, "1975. Would you care to try some?"

Trying not to laugh too hard because of the pain, Mike nodded with a grin, which was quickly matched by his partner.

Their laughter seeped through the glass walls and door of the cubicle and, across the way, the nurses at their station looked up and smiled.


	25. Chapter 25

Sergeant Dan Healey was leaning over his desk, lit only by the small lamp on its corner. The office lights were off and it was dark outside. He made a note on a large yellow pad then leaned back, out of the light, and sat quietly for several moments.

He reached for the phone and moved it front and centre then rooted around in his top drawer for a small notebook. He flipped it open, found the number he was looking for then dialed and waited.

"Hello, Lee? … It's Dan. Yeah, sorry to disturb you so late … That's good, I'm glad. Listen, you still know that guy who works over in Archives? … You do? That's great. Listen, um, I need to get my hands on some information that I think only they might have and I was wondering if you could get me in -? … Yeah, it's about Garrity. I have a list - … Okay …Okay, so you'll let me know tomorrow morning?…. Yeah, that would be great, thanks, Lee… Yeah, tomorrow morning or anytime tomorrow would be just great… Thanks, Lee, thanks a lot… Yeah … Yeah, buddy, I'll see you tomorrow. 'Night."

Smiling, Healey hung up the phone and sat back. He sighed contentedly and nodded, then put the phone back on the corner of the desk and made another note on the yellow pad.

# # # # #

Exiting the elevator on the fifth floor, Steve studied at the signs on the wall then turned in the direction indicated. He had called the hospital that morning and was told that Mike had been moved from ICU to a private room upstairs. Now, armed with two large coffees and a bag of donuts, he scanned the room numbers for the one he wanted.

Finding the right room, he pushed the door open with his elbow then stopped short when he spotted the empty bed. Involuntarily, his heart began to race.

"I'm right behind you," came a familiar voice in his ear and he spun to see a grinning Mike, dressed in a blue hospital gown and robe, wearing white socks and leaning on a cane, walking slowly down the corridor towards him.

Steve's stunned look quickly turned into a broad smile. "Hey, look at you," he chuckled, taking a step forward. "When did all this happen?"

Mike got closer to his partner then stopped, breathing just a little harder than normal. Still grinning, he said, "They moved me up here about 8, and got me on my feet about a half hour ago. I've been walking slowly around the floor since then." He took a careful deep breath. "It feels good but I'm getting a little tired."

Steve held out the items in his hand. "I brought sustenance." He nodded towards the room.

"Naw," said Mike, "I don't want to spend any more time in there than I have to. There's a nice little sunroom just down the hall. Let's go there."

Steve smiled and nodded, almost unable to contain his joy and his relief. Side by side, the partners started leisurely down the corridor.

# # # # #

Haseejian slipped into the back booth of the Geary Street diner. The booth's occupant glanced up from the menu and nodded. "The burgers look good," the second man said with a smile.

"I don't have time to eat," Haseejian said flatly, "I gotta get back to work. IA is keeping us on a pretty tight leash." He paused as the other man closed the menu and laid it on the table. "What do you have for me?"

"Alright," the other man said slowly, with a slight smile, pushing the menu away. "So you are all aware that the duty sergeant that morning was Don Shepherd, right?" On Haseejian's nod, he continued, "Well, did you know that the first thing he did after Garrity's body was found was hand in his papers?"

The homicide detective shook his head and frowned.

"Now, he had over thirty-two years on the job so it wasn't surprising but the timing is pretty suspicious, don't you think? But, not only did he turn in his papers, he lawyered up. And not even a PBA lawyer; he hired one of his own."

Haseejian, who had been hunched over the table, leaned back, his brow furrowing even more.

The other man nodded and cleared his throat. "From what I've heard, and I believe my source on this one, when IA interviewed him right after the, ah, the 'incident', he pled the Fifth and he hasn't said a word since. Now they've threatened him with his pension – that's about all they have in the way of a bargaining chip – but so far, from what I've heard, Shepherd is still a clam. And no one can figure out why."

Haseejian sat quietly for a moment, eyes down, then asked, "What do you know about Shepherd?"

"Not much," the other man shook his head, "just what everyone else seems to know – he was a good cop but not outstanding. Didn't seem to have much ambition, content to walk a beat, which, from what I hear, he was good at. Excelled at community relations. When he started getting older, he was transferred to Properties and he was there for years, then about two years ago, they moved him upstairs, literally, to Duty Sergeant in the cells. He had a clean record, no commendations but no disciplinary problems. Just a good, solid, non-spectacular career."

"And nothing to tie him to Garrity, one way or another?"

Another head shake. "As far as I've heard, but it hasn't been much so take it for what's it's worth - they weren't in the Academy together, they never worked together and they didn't even know each other."

Haseejian snorted quietly and sighed. "Alright, thanks." He began to stand, fishing a couple of bills out of his pocket and tossing them on the table. He began to turn away.

"Hey – so that favour I owed you? We're even now, right?"

Staring impassively at the other man, Haseejian nodded slowly. "Yeah, we're even," he said quietly as he walked away.

# # # # #

"Where the hell is Dan?" Haseejian barked at Tanner as he strode into the Homicide office.

The black detective looked up quickly. "I have no idea. He was here when I got in but he disappeared about an hour ago. He didn't tell me where he was going. Why?"

Haseejian had stopped and now he shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry, Bill, I shouldn't have snapped … I just, ah, I have some information for him and was kinda hoping he was here."

"Hey, no problem. What is it?"

Haseejian glanced around the room then lowered his voice. "Not here. I'll tell you later. You get anything yet?"

Tanner shook his head, smiling mirthlessly. "I was assigned to do the paperwork on a suicide this morning, and they want me to wrap everything up by tonight, so I'm kinda tied up."

"Where's Lee?"

"He hasn't been here all morning. I don't know what's going on, Norm, but I don't like it. We should be working together on this and instead they seem intent on keeping us apart."

"Yeah, well, that's 'cause they think one of us did it." He looked toward the inner office. "Damn it, I wish Mike was here. Then we wouldn't have to be dealing with all this bullshit."

# # # # #

Mike slowly and carefully leaned back against the pillows, holding his breath and closing his eyes. Settled, he released a pain-filled sigh and looked at his partner. "Ah, damn it, I don't seem to be getting any better," he said through a grimace, his right hand over his heart.

With a disbelieving shake of his head, pulling the sheet up over the older man, Steve said patiently, "It's only been three days. The doctors told you you're gonna have to take it easy for at least a month, remember?" He paused and chuckled. "This isn't a movie or a TV show, you know? You don't just bounce back from an injury like yours overnight, Iron Mike or not." He finished with a trenchant, eyebrows-raised stare.

Scowling, Mike dropped his eyes, then slowly started to laugh, pressing his hand against his chest a little harder. "Point taken," he said with a smile and leaned back into the pillows a little deeper. "I keep forgetting to ask, has Garrity been arraigned yet?"

Caught by surprise, still adjusting the sheet and blanket over his partner, Steve hoped his momentary hesitation wasn't noticed. "Ah, I'm not sure, I haven't been paying much attention. He surrendered on the spot so his guilt was never in question, so the rest is just formality, right?" He paused, smiling wistfully. "At least we won't have to go through the farce of a trial, hunh?" His eyes met Mike's, and his thoughts turned back to those few terrifying moments in the rain outside the De Haro house.

"Yeah," Mike agreed with a sigh. "So," he said, brightening, "when are you going in for your nose job?"

Steve smiled and chuckled. "Well, I wanted to wait till you were out of here, which, in hindsight, was probably not a very well thought-out decision. I don't want you to be alone when you get out, so I'm… 'fostering you out', so to speak."

"What?" Mike asked dubiously.

Steve cleared his throat again, trying not to smile. "Um, you know when you got out of the hospital the first time, you stayed with Rudy and Marie for a couple of nights? Well, they're gonna take you in again until I'm able to take over."

"Take over?"

Steve began to speak again, stopped, sighed, shrugged in exasperation, and finally just nodded. "Yeah, you see, when they do my nose on Monday – and today's Thursday in case you forgot – it's day surgery, I go in in the morning and I'll be out before dinner. But I've got to stay immobile for a couple of days while it starts to heal, which is something I hadn't figured on so… that's why I need Rudy and Marie." He paused, but when he realized Mike was too confused and baffled to challenge, he continued. "When I get the all clear from _my_ doctor, which should only be a couple of days, then you're going to move into my place."

When Mike opened his mouth to protest, he plowed on. "No argument, it's a done deal. You know your doctors have told you you can't be climbing stairs, and especially hills, for the next two weeks at least, maybe longer, and you can't lift anything heavy or exert yourself in any way.

"And in case you don't remember, your house is all stairs. I know mine has a lot too, but not as many, so I am going to ensconce you in my bedroom so you're near the bathroom, I'm moving my TV up there and I'll get you in a bunch of books and magazines, and Bill said he has a small fridge he can lend us. It's all set up, and you have no say it. So just smile and nod, 'cause you're not going to win this one," he finished with a sharp nod and a grin.

Mike, whose eyes had started to glaze over the longer Steve talked, shook his head slowly in amusement and started to chuckle. "Okay, you win, you win." With a wide smile, he added, "I, ah, I have to admit, I'm impressed by the detail. You seem to have thought of everything."

"Well," Steve shrugged nonchalantly, "you haven't been much of a conversationalist the past day or so, I had to do something while I sat here." He put his hand on Mike's right forearm and squeezed.

Mike blinked slowly, sighing. "Right now I'd do anything to get better as fast as I can." He looked at Steve with a fond smile. "I'll do whatever you want."

Steve winked and laughed. "That's what I wanted to hear. Look, I've got to drop by the office for a bit. Why don't you take it easy the rest of the afternoon and I'll come by with dinner later and we can go for another walk around the floor, okay?"

# # # # #

"Excuse me, Mister Healey?" The detective looked up at the smiling clerk on the other side of the table. "We're going to be closing soon. Are you almost finished?"

He smiled warmly. "Yes, Mrs. Ferguson, I just need to get a few more things Xeroxed and I'll be out of your hair."

"That's fine. You just help yourself. I'm glad we could be of assistance." She nodded politely and moved away.

Healey looked back down at the stacks of files, binders and documents on the table before him. He rifled through them quickly, finding the pages he needed copies of, and putting them in a folder.

He had spent the day going through reams of forms and letters, files and charts, copying everything and anything he thought might have some bearing on what he was looking for – and he was sure in the many pages he already had in his file and the many more he still had to copy, that the answer was in there somewhere. He had a lot of work yet to do, but he was more confident than ever that he was on the right track.

Getting up, he glanced at his watch, then closed his eyes momentarily, angry with himself. He knew his absence from the bureau would not have gone unnoticed, not only by his colleagues but by the higher ups, now that he was under suspicion. He hadn't meant to be gone so long. He had sworn Lessing to silence, not wanting word to get out where he was and what he was doing. And now he had put both his friends and his own career in jeopardy.

He picked up the papers and files that needed copying and headed off. His mind was clear and his intention pure. He no longer cared about his own career; the only thing on his mind right now was clearing his name and avenging his boss.


	26. Chapter 26

Steve pushed the door opened to find Mike seemingly asleep. As he approached the bed, his partner's eyes fluttered open and he smiled. "Hey, I was wondering when you were gonna get here. You promised dinner," he said with a chuckle.

"I did and I have. It's in the sunroom. Feel like going for a walk?"

"Yeah," Mike said with a faint moan as he sat up, a hand to his chest, "I've just been lying here all afternoon and I'm a little stiff." With Steve's hand on his elbow, he slid carefully off the bed, and Steve helped putting on his robe.

Mike slipped his arm through Steve's and they slowly moved across the room and out the door, turning in the direction of the sunroom. "What did you do today?"

"Oh, just went into the office for a few minutes to talk to Rudy, tell him about my surgery and see if anything new was going on."

"And?"

"Not too much, nothing we have to worry about anyway. By the way, he said Marie is thrilled that you're going to be spending more time with them," Steve chuckled.

"Oh great," Mike said dryly then added with a smile. "But she's a damn good cook. I better watch myself or I'll gain 'those unwanted pounds'," he chuckled. Then his face turned solemn and he said ponderously, "Then again, I'll be leaving their place and going to yours…hmmm, I might need those extra pounds after all, the way you cook," he finished with a smirk and another chuckle.

"Har-dee-har-har," Steve intoned sarcastically, but his face with alight with a warm and affectionate grin. Life was slowly coming back to normal, he felt.

They had reached to entrance to the sunroom, and Mike sniffed the air. "Chinese food, you got us Chinese food, am I right?"

Shaking his head in amused admiration, Steve led them around the corner and stopped. He felt Mike stiffen beside him. "Wow," the older man gasped breathlessly. Standing before them, behind a table full of Chinese food containers, napkins, chopsticks, forks and cans of soda, stood Haseejian, Tanner and Lessing sporting broad grins.

"There he is," announced Haseejian with a belly laugh, as he crossed around the table and approached the older man. He held out his arms. "Boss," he said warmly and, as Steve backed away, very carefully enveloped Mike in a gentle embrace. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he took a step back.

Grinning, Mike nodded. "Getting better every day, though it's gonna be awhile till I'm back." Haseejian stepped away as Tanner and Lessing came forward, each of them giving him a gentle hug as well. Mike had always been a tactile boss, and his staff had quickly learned that the occasional hug was not out of the question, a trait that took awhile to get used to for some.

"Sit down," said Haseejian, gesturing at the large armchair that had been moved near the table, and Steve once more put his hand on Mike's elbow and helped him to sit. Mike couldn't disguise his discomfort and the others frowned in worry; they had all noticed the slowly fading but still highly visible deep purple bruise on their boss's chest above the blue gown, and the dark circles under his eyes.

Noticing their concern, Mike smiled as he beheld the table. "This looks great," he said, "thanks, guys, I appreciate this, you have no idea."

The others took their seats and began to pass around the food cartons. Steve, sitting beside his partner, looked after filling Mike's plate. "Where's Dan?" Mike asked to no one in particular, and Haseejian, who was reaching for an egg roll, hesitated only a fraction before saying brightly, "Oh, he had something to do back at the office that he couldn't get out of – but he said to say hi and get well soon."

"Something to do with that robbery-homicide thing?" Mike asked, as he watched Steve putting garlic spareribs on his plate.

Haseejian's eyes widened marginally and he shot a quick glance at Steve, who nodded slightly but sharply. "Ah, yeah, that's right. He's the one that got caught up in all that and they're making him stay late tonight." He rolled his eyes, hoping Mike hadn't noticed the hesitation.

"Well, his loss," Mike chuckled as he looked up from his plate at his sergeant and grinned.

Tanner opened a can of ginger ale and put it on the table in front of his boss. "Here you go, Mike," he said with a smile and a quick look towards Haseejian. "So, how are you doing really?" he asked, and from the corner of his eye he saw the Armenian detective sigh silently and lean back.

# # # # #

Mike stood still while Steve undid his robe and slipped it off, then he sat on the side of the bed. With the younger man holding his right forearm and the other hand on his back, he leaned back against the pillows and raised his legs onto the bed, holding his breath.

Sighing painfully, he watched as Steve started to pull the sheet up. Looking at the top of his partner's head, he asked quietly, "So what is it that you don't want to tell me?"

Steve froze for a split second then continued to reposition the sheet. "What makes you think I've been keeping something from you?"

"I may not be at the top of my game right now, but I'm still a detective, Steve. I've known for a long time that you haven't been telling me everything, and tonight just confirmed it. Norm did a good job of trying to cover but, hey, he's no Marlon Brando."

Steve couldn't repress a chuckle, and he turned to meet his partner's upraised eyebrows. He sighed loudly and shook his head. "Norm'll be devastated," he said with a smile.

"Come on, spill," Mike said, gesturing at the nearby chair and Steve sunk into it reluctantly.

"You really want me to tell you?"

Mike looked at him evenly then asked quietly. "Why is it that you don't want to?"

Even though he knew he was putting the young man on the spot, Mike continued to stare, not moving.

Steve shifted uneasily then smiled, shook his head again and looked away. He sighed heavily then turned to meet Mike's eyes directly. "All right, you want me to tell you, I'll tell you," he snapped. "Garrity's dead."

He watched Mike's head recoil slightly but his expression didn't change. "How?"

"He was beaten to death in a cell on the seventh floor."

A pause. "When?"

"Two days ago, while I was getting my jaw unwired and you were in the OR."

Another pause. "Do they know who did it?"

"Ah, no, not yet… but IA is investigating Dan and Bill."

"What?" Finally Mike's detective demeanour showed a crack. "Why?"

"Because they were between here and the office when it went down. They got stuck in traffic and then stopped for a bite to eat but so far they haven't been able to prove that to the satisfaction of IA."

"What do _you_ think?"

Steve looked at him, brow furrowed, then looked away. "I don't have to _think,_ I _know_ \- they didn't do it."

"Okay…that's good. But why do you think IA suspects them?"

Steve took a deep breath. "Not _them -_ Dan. He, ah, he took what happened to you pretty hard… Everybody did."

Mike swallowed and looked down. "Ah, so where was Dan tonight?"

"I have no idea, but I do know he's working on the Garrity case on his own, while everyone else has been hand-cuffed. He's going out on a limb here, Mike – he could lose his job over what's he's doing right now."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Mike said quietly, the iron back in his voice. "Who knows what he's doing?"

"Norm, Bill, Lee, Rudy, me – and now you."

Mike nodded. "Let's keep it that way. And, ah, don't tell them I know, not yet."

"Okay," Steve said softly, as he began to rise.

"Hey, hey, hey," Mike caught his attention and he stopped midway to standing.

"What?"

"Sit down," the older man ordered, pointing at the chair, "you're not done yet."

Warily, Steve sat back down.

"I asked you earlier _why_ you didn't want to tell me and you didn't answer. I think I kinda figured that out, so you're off the hook for that one…" Steve shot him a relieved look "… but what else haven't you told me?"

Steve froze, brow furrowed once more. "What do you mean?"

"Steve…"

The younger man grinned, shaking his head in confusion. "I really don't know what you're talking about."

"When Dr. Nugent walked into my room after I woke up, that wasn't the first time you two had met, was it?"

Steve's eyes widened slightly and Mike smiled.

"You talked to him while I was sedated, didn't you, and he told you what really happened, didn't he?"

Steve hesitated then dropped his eyes. "Yeah."

"What happened?"

Steve took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "What I told you was what he had initially told me. But when I talked to him a second time, to find out how you were doing from his perspective, he told me what really happened. He said he didn't want to make it sound worse than it really was so he put a good face on it when he saw us in the waiting room right after the procedure."

Mike waited, knowing Steve needed to gather his thoughts before going on.

"Mike, you were clinically dead for almost two minutes before they got your heart started again. They didn't have time to get you to the OR – Dr. Nugent had to insert the needle into your heart right in your room with nothing except his skill and experience. You really were incredibly lucky – Nugent's the only guy in this hospital that could've done that and he was visiting a patient just down the hall." He paused to let his words and their implications sink in. "They got you into the OR after your heart started again, and that's when they put the catheter in."

Mike had looked away, and Steve was staring at the floor. Neither spoke for several long moments. Then Steve cleared his throat. "When Dr. Nugent told me it scared the hell out of me … it still does." He reached out and put his hand in Mike's, smiling at the strength of the returned squeeze.

They sat in silence for awhile, then Steve pulled his hand away and stood. "Listen, ah, I better get out of here, let you get some sleep."

"That sounds like a good idea," Mike said softly, neither making eye contact.

As he crossed to the door, keeping his back to the room, Steve said, "I'll come by tomorrow morning, bring breakfast. I'll see you then." He opened the door and was just about to leave when Mike's voice stopped him.

"Steve."

The younger man hesitated before he turned, almost reluctantly meeting his partner's stare.

"Thank you," Mike said simply, his expression a heartwarming blend of understanding and affection.

Steve smiled slowly. "Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning."


	27. Chapter 27

**A Very Bad Day – Chapter 27**

Mike glanced up once more at his breakfast companion, a frown furrowing his brow not for the first time that morning. "You look worse today than you did yesterday. Didn't you sleep last night?"

Not looking up from his Danish, Steve shook his head. "I got a phone call from Rudy about 10. Seems he heard about our 'dinner party' last night and tore some strips off me. He'd told me to stay away from the guys for a little while." He shrugged. "I told him the guys needed to see you as much as you needed to see them, so…"

Mike chuckled. "Don't worry about it – I'll deal with Rudy. He sometimes forgets that we're not machines. And I'll swear to him on a stack that we didn't discuss anything to do with work, if he's that paranoid." He took a sip of his coffee. "Why didn't you tell him _I_ asked to see the guys?"

Steve stopped moving for a second, then his eyebrows shot up. "Hmmm, I never thought of that."

Mike chuckled again. "Well, next time he gets into a hissy-fit, blame whatever it is on me. In 'my condition', he wouldn't dare say anything to me, so everyone will be blameless."

Steve shrugged in the affirmative. "Good point."

"The Danish is great. Say, I'd advise you to stay away from the office today, but do me a favor, make some calls, will ya, and try to find out what Dan's up to? Be discreet. But if it means compromising what he's doing, then back off. I trust his instincts."

Sipping his coffee, Steve nodded. "I'm gonna do a grocery run for my place today, stock up before the weekend and get ready for my incarceration next week. I'll make some calls after that and then grab us some dinner. Any word yet when you're getting out?"

Mike nodded with his mouth full then swallowed before answering. "Monday morning. They never let anybody out over the weekend, or so I was told, so they're releasing me first thing Monday morning if I get through the next two days with flying colors."

"Monday's my surgery –"

"Don't worry," Mike held up a hand, cutting him off, "Marie is going to come pick me up so you're off the hook, I called her this morning."

"You've been busy."

"Well, unlike someone else at this table, _I_ had a good night's," he smirked as he popped the last of his Danish into his mouth. "I was up with the roosters."

"The nurses must have loved that."

"Finish your Danish, smart guy, we've gotta go for a walk before you leave."

# # # # #

"Homicide, Sergeant Haseejian."

"Norm, it's me. Listen, ah, I got a lot of stuff I gotta go through and I could use another pair of eyes and someone to bounce ideas off of. And I don't want to bring it into the office."

Haseejian glanced at his watch. "I can't get away now, and I have a meeting with Rudy this afternoon. Look, why don't we make it a weekend – I'll pick up some beer and steaks and head over to your place tomorrow and we can go at it all day. Does that sound like a plan?"

"Ah, sure, I'll tell Bonnie I'm gonna fire up the bar-b-que, she'll love it."

"Look, Dan, you should get your ass in here for a couple of hours this afternoon, at least make it look like you're still doing your job. IA has been in and out of here a couple of times in the last two days and they keep glaring at your empty desk."

"Yeah, yeah, I will. I gotta go. See ya later."

Haseejian hung up the phone with a frown. Even the good auspices of Mike Stone might not be enough to save Dan Healey's career if the sergeant was hell bent on going it alone.

# # # # #

Healey leaned forward and ran his hands over his face, then massaged the back of his neck. Haseejian sat back in the armchair and closed his eyes.

Slowly Healey staggered to his feet. "I'm getting us a beer – we deserve it."

Haseejian chuckled wearily. "God, you can say that again." He leaned forward and flipped once more through the stack of pages on the table before him. "Damn it, Dan, you did a hell of a job here!"

As Healey came back from the kitchen with two beer bottles in hand, he whispered loudly, "Shssss, Bonnie went to bed about an hour ago, I don't wanna wake her. She's done yeoman's service for us this weekend."

"You can say that again," Haseejian chuckled as he took one of the bottles. He held it up and Healey clinked it with his own before dropping back down in an armchair.

"So, my friend, bottom line – do we or do we not have enough to take this to Rudy and Gerry yet?"

Haseejian sighed then sat back, considering. "I still think we have a couple of i's to dot and t's to cross first, don't you? I mean, this has got to be beyond airtight, Dan, or they're gonna throw it right back at us, don't you think?"

It was Healey's turn to sigh, but his was laced with a frustrated acceptance. "Yeah."

"A couple more days," Haseejian said with assurance. "A couple more days. Then we'll start nailing some asses to the wall."

# # # # #

He became aware that he was breathing through his mouth, and his head felt heavy and congested. There was a faint taste of blood on the back of his throat and he couldn't open his eyes at first. Swallowing and breathing at the same time was impossible and frustrating, as was the overwhelming urge to sniff.

As he opened his eyes slowly, he felt his upper body being elevated. A strong female voice said gently, "There you go, Mister Keller. You're doing just fine. Now you just lie here for awhile and let the anesthetic work itself out."

His eyes slowly focused on the brunette middle-aged nurse as she adjusted the sheet and pulled the overbed table closer so he could reach the cup of water and straw. He nodded as best he could and she stepped away. "I'll be right back with your painkillers," she said with a smile.

He almost nodded to her but stopped himself. A small groan escaped his open lips as he closed his eyes again. It felt as if his entire head was encased in gauze, inside and out.

"Here you go," he heard the nurse again and his eyes opened, struggling to focus. He could see her hand in front of his face, a couple of white capsules in her palm. Lethargically, he reached for the pills and put them in his mouth then took the cup from her hand and took a quick sip, trying to down the pills in one go, opening his mouth quickly so he could breath again.

He sensed her moving away and all became quiet as the door closed. He wasn't sure how long he lay there without moving, breathing through his mouth, letting the painkillers kick in. Starting to feel human again, he opened his eyes slightly, staring at the ceiling.

"Hi," a familiar voice came from his left and his eyes shot wide open but he thankfully resisted the urge to snap his head in the direction of the greeting. As he started to turn, the smiling visage of his partner came into view over the bed. "How do you feel?"

Trying not to smile, Steve's brow furrowed. His words came out a little mumbled. "What are you doin' here?"

Mike snorted with a grin. "Hey, I understood that!" he chuckled, raising his own eyebrows. "Where else would I be?"

"I thought you were released this morning?"

"I was." When Steve started to ask the next question, Mike put an index finger to his own lips. "Ssh, ssh, ssh, I know what you're going to ask. Give me a second and I'll tell you."

Mike carefully moved a stool closer to the bed then gingerly climbed on it so he was in Steve's field of vision. He reached out and took the younger man's hand in his own. "There, now you can see me without moving your head."

Mike was in his street clothes: khakis, a checked shirt and a Giants baseball cap. Steve recognized these as the clothes he had picked up at the De Haro house a few days ago.

"So, yes, they did release me at 9 this morning, but I'd called Marie and told her not to pick me up till 3." When Steve's eyebrows rose, he continued quickly. "I told her they weren't letting me out till then, I dutifully rode the wheelchair out the front door – you'd've been proud of me – and then I just walked back into the building and came up here."

"You've been here since 9?"

"Well, I wandered down to the cafeteria at one point, when you were in surgery. But, yeah, I've been here."

"What time is it?"

Mike glanced at his watch. "A little after 2."

Steve's exhale was filled with affectionate frustration. "Aren't you tired?"

Mike shrugged a little guiltily. "A bit," he admitted reluctantly, then waved a hand. "I can sleep at Rudy's." He grinned again. "So, I talked to your doctor –"

Steve shook his head cautiously and rolled his eyes in an 'of course you did' way, trying not to smile.

"- and he said everything went perfectly. You're gonna be sore for awhile, they'll take the packing out in a few days, you're probably gonna have two black eyes for a couple of weeks, but when this is all over, you'll have your beautiful face back again," he finished with a laugh. "Oh, just so you know, they're going to keep you in overnight, just in case –"

Steve's eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

"- and that was my request," Mike continued quickly, trying to ignore the stare coming from the bed. "Buddy boy," he said quietly, his tone turning serious, "I want to make sure you're gonna be okay. We've had too many surprises lately, the pair of us. I don't want anymore." He was staring at the younger man, and Steve could see the anxiety in the familiar blue eyes.

Steve relaxed and closed his eyes, giving Mike's hand an understanding squeeze.

Mike swallowed then smiled. "That's my boy," he said softly, squeezing back. "Oh, ah, you're not going home alone tomorrow, by the way. Lee is going to be moving in with you for the next couple of days – I already made sure he had permission from Karen. She's gonna send over some soft food for you too. So don't act surprised tomorrow morning when Lee shows up here to drive you home."

Steve had slowly opened his eyes while Mike talked and looked at his partner with baffled amusement. He knew better than to argue at this point, physically challenged or not. He shook Mike's hand gently, staring at him with a warm smile. Sighing quietly, he murmured, "I love you, you know."

Mike's closed-mouth grin lit up his face and his eyes shone. "Yeah, I do."


	28. Chapter 28

"You don't have to do this, either of you. I don't want you to jeopardize your careers or your pensions; it's totally up to you. But in order to get all the evidence we need to take our case to Rudy and Gerry, there're still things that we need verified."

Dan Healey was sitting beside his partner in a booth at the back of the Geary Street diner. Lee Lessing and Bill Tanner were sitting opposite them.

Tanner glanced at the man beside him before he spoke. "Well, I don't know about Lee, but I'm in. I don't think I want to work for a force that hangs one of it's own out to dry like they seem to be doing to you, Dan."

Lessing swallowed hard then nodded vigorously. "I agree. They seem hell bent on pinning this on you one way or the other, and we can't let them do it. Hell, I'm young enough, I can start somewhere else – but if you _oldtimers_ are willing to risk everything, it's the least I can do," he finished with a wicked grin.

After a split second of stunned silence, the other began to chuckle; Haseejian reached across the table and playfully smacked the younger man on the side of his head. Sighing loudly, Healey smiled with relief. "Whew, you guys don't know how great it is to hear you say that." He picked up the file that was beside him on the seat, laid it on the table and opened it.

"So, we've narrowed the field down. And what we need now is verification." He took out a few pages and turned them so they were facing Lessing and Tanner. "Norm can help out too, but _I've_ gotta lay low. I think someone saw me at Archives the other day and I've been called into Rudy's office this afternoon, so I think I might be getting my head handed to me. I want to make sure this is in the works before the shit hits the fan, so to speak."

He fanned the sheets out on the table. "What I need is these alibis to be verified – and I mean verified beyond reproach – and I need that done asap. I know it's a lot of work, but there is so much on the line here, and the sooner we wrap this up, the better for everyone. Be thorough, be accurate, but above all, be discreet.

"Lee, I have to talk to Mike. I can't call him because he's still at Rudy's and I don't want Rudy involved in this. It's okay if _we_ lose our jobs, but I'm not gonna put his on the line as well. Now I know you're staying with Steve – can you get him to call Mike and we can maybe arrange to meet somewhere in the next couple of days?"

Lessing nodded. "Yeah, I'll ask him. It shouldn't be a problem."

"How is our favorite golden child, by the way?" asked Haseejian with a chuckle.

Lessing rolled his eyes. "Oh my god, if you thought Mike made a horrible patient, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Talk about a bear with a sore paw." The others laughed quietly, trying not to draw attention from the diner's other patrons. "I know he's in pain and he hates being confined to bed, but you'd think I was torturing him by making him take his antibiotics and painkillers and only allowing him to eat soft food. I'll be glad to get out of there and let Mike handle him, believe me!"

"So when is this happy reunion taking place?" Tanner asked cautiously.

"Tomorrow, hopefully," Lessing sighed. "I'm supposed to pick Mike up sometime in the afternoon and take him to Steve's place. Say, that would be a good time for you to maybe drop round to Steve's, Dan, and then you can talk to them both. Sound like an idea?"

Healey nodded. "Sounds perfect, just let me know when. Till then, fellas, here's what I need." He pointed at the first sheet.

# # # # #

"What are you up to, Dan?" Mike asked with narrowed eyes as he sat on the couch beside his partner in Steve's apartment.

Healey cleared his throat, raising his eyes from the floor to meet the blue ones of his boss. "Well, I've been doing a little digging of my own –"

"So I heard."

"- and I need some information from one of your contacts so I can put some more nails in someone's coffin, so to speak."

Trying not to wince, Mike leaned back and folded his arms, his expression unreadable. He glanced sideways and, despite the gravity of the situation, couldn't suppress a tiny smile – Steve looked atrocious. The white bandage over the bridge of his nose made his two black eyes stand out all the more; the packing in his nostrils didn't help either. Truth be told, he looked like a large grumpy raccoon. Steve caught the look and turned confrontationally. "What?"

Chuckling, Mike looked down, biting his lip. He cleared his throat. "Nothing. Ah, Dan, you were saying?"

Trying to suppress his own grin, Healey continued. "So, ah, I don't want to give you guys any details – I'm supposed to be keeping you two out of the loop and that is one thing I fully intend to do – but, Mike, I remember you mentioning at one point that you had a really good contact at the Hall of Records, right?"

"Yeah, Jack McGowan, why?"

"Well, there are some records that I just need to have a look at to make sure I'm right." He paused. "It's really important, Mike, I wouldn't ask you if I didn't mean it and I didn't need it."

Mike stared at his sergeant then nodded slowly. "I understand. And I know how fragile a limb it is you're out there on. Don't think I don't appreciate it."

"It's not just me, Mike," Healey said slowly.

The older man cocked his head slightly, understanding what Healey meant. Mike closed his eyes, let his head fall back onto the couch and sighed loudly. He opened his mouth to say something but Healey cut him off.

"We all know what we're doing, Mike – the risks we're taking. We're not going into this blindly, we all know what we could lose. But we can't let this go – not now, not with so much at stake. Not after what's been done," he added softly as he nodded towards both partners on the couch.

Mike uncrossed his arms slowly and leaned forward, his austere demeanor intimidating. Steve eyed him sideways, holding his breath and his tongue. Healey met Mike's eyes evenly then he blinked and looked down, suddenly uneasy.

"Go home, Sergeant," Mike said quietly and Healey sighed dejectedly, starting to get to his feet. "I'll have Jack call you at home later tonight."

# # # # #

"He did _what_?!" Mike yelled into the phone, and from his place at the kitchen counter pouring coffee, Steve winced and looked towards the living room. He quickly picked up both cups and strode towards his partner, putting the cups down on the coffee table and raising his finger threateningly.

"Calm down!" he whispered quickly and reached for the receiver.

Mike turned his head away, " _When_ did he do this?!" he shouted into the receiver, holding his hand up towards the younger man and shaking his head.

Steve made another grab for the phone with one hand and when Mike deked again, snagged it with the other. The sharp movement caused Mike to wince and he glowered at the younger man, but Steve pointed angrily at the couch and after a quick standoff, he sat and glared.

Continuing to hold Mike's fierce stare, Steve put the receiver to his ear. "Hello?... Yeah, Norm, it's Steve… yeah, I know I sound funny. Look, I've just made Mike sit down and _relax_ ," he looked a threat at his partner, "because he's not supposed to get excited and let his heart rate increase, so you can tell me what you were telling him and then I'll let him know whether I want him to know anymore or not. Think of me as his filter, so to speak." He paused. "Unh-hunh…okay…yeah, thanks. Okay. Yeah, so from now on, if Mike answers the phone, don't tell him anything, you got that? All his calls go through me first… Thanks… okay, yeah, see ya." With exaggerated deliberateness, Steve hung up the phone, still staring at his partner.

Eventually Mike looked down. "Rudy suspended Dan," he said sharply, trying not to let the anger colour his tone. "Two days ago. When Dan was here yesterday, he'd already been suspended for a day. And he didn't tell us."

"Mike, relax! Please!" Steve's voice was heavy with concern. Wearily he sat beside the older man on the couch. He exhaled loudly. "Let's face it, it's out of our hands right now, isn't it?"

"I want to call Rudy –"

"You're not calling anyone, so forget about it."

They sat in silence for a several long moments then Mike put an apologetic hand on his partner's back and patted him. With a tired, sad chuckle, Steve slapped Mike's knee as he got to his feet. "Come on," he said softly, "let's get you upstairs and into bed. I bring up our coffees and make us some popcorn and we can watch some TV and try not to think about things we have no control over right now."

"I hate this," Mike muttered as he got carefully to his feet.

"I know you do…"

# # # # #

"At least it's with pay," Tanner said with a shrug as he settled into the booth and put his file folder on the table.

Healey looked up at him with a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, well, still doesn't look great on my record." He shook his head in exasperation.

"How'd he find out?" asked Lessing as he put the menus on the next table, glancing up for the waitress.

Healey shrugged. "Not sure. But it had to have been someone at Archives and they put two and two together. I thought I was careful but who knows." He chuckled again, this time in irony. "Maybe a friend of Shepherd's saw me."

"Speaking of which – or is it whom?" Haseejian asked rhetorically as he arrived at the table, file folder in hand, "that bastard still hasn't opened his mouth, from what I've been told. But I think we know his story now, don't we, boys?" he asked with a grin as he sat, looking very much like the Cheshire Cat. He tapped the file in his hand then tossed it on the table on top of Tanners. "Gentlemen, I don't know about the rest of you, but I have had more satisfaction in the last three days than I've had in ages. I actually felt like I was doing something productive for a change."

Tanner nodded in agreement. "You can say that again. So, which one of us hit the jackpot?" He glanced around the table.

Lessing held up his hand. "I think that would be me," he grinned as he tossed his file folder onto the growing pile.

Healey picked up his own folder from the seat beside him, tossed it on the pile as well, then rubbed his hands together. "Well, if we have in these files what I think we have – then tomorrow morning, Norm, I want you and Lee - because you are the 'good guys' in this case right now – sorry, Bill," Tanner nodded with a smile, "to take this to straight to Rudy and see if we can proceed."

Haseejian glanced at the others then back to Healey. "That sounds good, but what, precisely, do you want us to ask?"

"By the beginning of next week I want to get everyone involved in this case, from both murders – Pettet and Garrity – in one room at the same time. Cops, ambulance attendants, family, neighbours, everybody that was interviewed – well, everybody except Mike and Steve – all together at the same time." He smiled with anticipation as he sat back in the chair. "And then we get to play Perry Mason."


	29. Chapter 29

The conference room was near to overflowing. No one could remember when so many people had been requested to show up at Bryant Street for a 'meeting' of this kind. Some had been urged to attend on the pretext of being brought up to date on the investigation, while the others had been ordered. It was an eclectic mix of law enforcement and civilians, and a true cross-section of the city.

The main players sat around the long elliptical table, others in chairs against the walls. When the last of the invitees had arrived and the door was closed, Olsen stood at the head of the table and addressed the room.

"Good morning, everybody. I'm Captain Rudy Olsen, and I have asked you all here today so that you are all brought up to date on the continuing investigation into the murders of Charles Washington Pettet and Patrick Kean Garrity. I know that each and every one of you are involved in either or both of these cases, in one way or another, and we believe that our detectives," he nodded quickly over his shoulder at the men behind him, "are very near to bringing both these investigations to a close."

He looked around the room, seeming to make a decision on the spot. "I was going to have everyone make introductions, but it seems to me that that wouldn't be beneficial right now. What I will suggest is that, once my detectives have finished presenting their findings, if anyone has any questions or comments, that you identify yourself and your connection with these cases. Is everyone agreed?"

Everyone nodded, some exchanging looks with the persons next to them, and Olsen nodded as well. "Good. Thank you. I will take this opportunity to just quickly introduce Assistant District Attorney Gerry O'Brien, who is here as a courtesy. ADA O'Brien will not be asking any questions or making any comments; he is here strictly as an observer."

O'Brien nodded to the room from his chair in the far corner of the room by the door.

"All right," said Olsen, taking a step back, "that being said, I will now turn things over to Sergeant Norm Haseejian. Norm."

Clearing his throat slightly, the Armenian detective stepped forward. "Ladies and gentlemen, good morning and thank you all for coming. Over the next hour or so, my colleagues and I will fill you in on the progress we have made so far in our investigations into the murder of Charles Washington Pettet and Patrick Kean Garrity. During that time, once we have, for lack of a better word, 'closed out' a portion of the investigation, anyone whose involvement is restricted to that particular aspect of our inquiry will be free to go. So most of you won't be here all day," he said with a chuckle and was rewarded with a lot of relieved sighs and nods around the room.

Haseejian glanced back at Tanner and Lessing. "Gentlemen, shall we begin?"

# # # # #

Healey had both hands wrapped around his coffee cup, and he was staring into it with a ferocious intensity. He sighed loudly. "God, I wish I could be there." A hand reached across the table and settled gently on his forearm, and he looked up into sympathetic blue eyes.

"I know how you feel, Dan, but believe me, you're better off here," Mike said with a smile.

A coffee cup hit the table with a loud thud, and Steve dropped into the other chair. "We all want to be there, Dan," he said, "but I can't imagine how frustrating this must be for you. My god, the work you put in on this."

Healey's head came up and he looked at his younger colleague with appreciation, and a little shock. "Hey, you got the packing out! You sound like you again!"

Mike chuckled and Steve grinned. "Yep, they took it out Friday. I'm actually starting to feel human again."

"But he still looks like Rocky Raccoon," Mike added with a laugh and both pairs of younger eyes snapped in his direction.

"Ah, how do you know Rocky Raccoon?" Healey asked with amused awe, glancing at Steve with surprise.

Looking suitably affronted, Mike eyed them both. "I've lived with a daughter for the past twenty years or so. I would've had to have been a hermit not to hear her play the White album over and over. I'm not a Neanderthal, you know?" he finished with a whine and the others laughed.

Steve looked at Healey. "He never ceases to amaze – Ow!" he started but was cut off by swat to the back of the head. Chuckling, he glared at his partner and rubbed his head. "Hey, the nose, remember the nose…"

The laughter died as their thoughts turned once more to the events going on at Bryant Street. After a few minutes of silence, Healey looked up at his boss. "Mike, I want to apologize again –" he started, but the older man cut him off.

"Dan, I already told you. I understand, so don't worry about it. Believe it or not, I've been known to bend a rule or two in my time –"

"He still does," Steve threw in sotto voce.

"- so I know where you're coming from," Mike finished as he threw his partner a visual barb. Steve ducked the swat he knew would be coming, chuckling. "Besides, it's not going to last – not with the work you've done on this case. I can guarantee you that not only will you be back on the streets before you know it, but Rudy'll actually apologize to you."

"Ho-ho," Steve chuckled sarcastically, "that's a huge promise, my man – Rudy apologizing?"

Mike looked at his partner with faux disdain. "Ye of little faith."

Healey looked from one partner to the other and grinned.

# # # # #

Olsen glanced up at the clock on the wall as he closed the door and turned back to the room. 2:14. He crossed to the head of the table once more and addressed those still in the room.

"Well," he said pleasantly, "our numbers have been drastically reduced."

Throughout the morning, the detectives had concentrated on the full disclosure of the facts surrounding the Pettet killing, laying out the timeline, explaining how, high on PCP and in full-fledged paranoia, Pettet had ambushed Lieutenant Stone and Inspector Keller, seriously injuring both of them, before he had been shot and killed in self defence, then how Patrolman Madsen had staged the scene to make it look like an 'excessive force' case.

Pettet's parents, who were in attendance, listened in rapt attention, then asked to speak. Mr. Pettet apologized for his son's behaviour, and asked that their wishes for a complete recovery of both injured officers was passed along. After being assured that both were well on the mend, Olsen offered the possibility that in the near future, all parties could be brought together. Pleased that their son's death had been treated in a professional and compassionate manner, the Pettets, still grieving but now beginning to accept the reality of the situation, were allowed to leave.

Patrolman McKinley and the four ambulance attendants from the Pettet scene were also released, as were the neighbours who had been interviewed and the officers who had arrived at the scene after the fact.

Now the only people in the room were those directly concerned with the Garrity murder: Sergeant Don Shepherd and members of the Garrity family – wife Maureen Madsen, her brothers John and Colin Madsen, her son Conor and John's daughter Aileen.

The Madsen's, still smarting about the revelations laid out that morning against Andrew Madsen, were glaring at the detectives as Olsen once more turned the proceedings over to Haseejian.

As Norm approached the head of the table, his heart began to pound and he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. This was what they had been working towards. He began by laying out the events of the night of Mike's shooting and the arrest of Patrick Garrity.

# # # # #

Healey glanced at his watch again, then at the phone near his elbow, and back at his watch. Steve, sitting on the couch reading the newspaper, looked up and chuckled. "Dan, you're gonna have to relax and you're gonna give yourself a heart attack. Why don't you take a page out of Mike's book and lie down for a nap?"

"At this point I don't think I'll ever sleep again," Healey said with a dry chuckle, looking at his colleague with a grateful smile. "They should be tackling the Garrity killing right now – so Norm is moving in for the kill. God, I wish I knew what was going on."

"Look, Dan, you are one hundred percent sure of this, aren't you?"

Healey nodded. "Yeah."

"So are Mike and I. You did it, you got to the bottom of it and you're gonna clear your name and put the killer behind bars – what more can you ask, right?"

"To be there to see the looks on their faces?" Healey asked facetiously. "I know Norm'll do a good job – he's a hell of a cop. Its just…"

"I know," Steve smiled sympathetically. "It's just not the same, is it?" He sobered, putting the paper down and leaning forward. "I haven't had the chance to thank you guys for being there for me that night. I don't think I've ever been so scared…"

Healey snorted mirthlessly. "You? When I saw Mike go down, I just kept thinking, we should have been there, we could have stopped it if we had been there sooner. We failed him."

The silence lengthened. "We didn't though, did we?" Steve asked quietly into the hush. "We've still got him."

"Yep, we do," Healey smiled affectionately.

Steve glanced at his own watch. "Hey, the sun is over the yardarm, what say you and I have a beer. I have a feeling this day is gonna get a lot longer."

# # # # #

"So the question is, of course, who was it that had access to the cell where Garrity was being held, and why would that person want to kill him? On the surface, there doesn't seem to be much of a reason – we had Garrity dead to rights. He surrendered at the scene and three people saw him pull the trigger, his prints were all over the gun. There was no point to his murder, even from a vengeful cop who wanted to make him pay for almost taking the life of one of the most respected and beloved members of the force.

"So we decided to open up the possibilities – was it personal in another way, as in 'family personal'?" Haseejian took a moment to take one of the files from Tanner and spread some sheets out on the table. "You see, one of the things that bothered us from the very beginning," he paused and looked up, "was you, Sergeant Shepherd. Whoever it was that beat Patrick Garrity to death, he either had to be known to you or had some contact with you in another way," he shrugged, "maybe a monetary way?

"So we had a look at your finances, Sergeant, and surprisingly, there was nothing in your bank account that suggested that you took a monetary bribe, and we couldn't find any traces of another bank account somewhere else. Of course, you could have a Swiss account, but we don't think that's a real possibility," he finished with a smirk that called Shepherd's intelligence into question. Even Olsen swallowed a chuckle and O'Brien's eyes widened in appreciation.

"So, if it wasn't monetary, then what? Professional? So we went through your personnel file and, lo and behold, you and Garrity never even seem to have met – not at the Academy, not on the streets, you didn't even work in the same divisions over the years. So, once again, nothing there.

"That, of course, left personal life. But going through both your files and Garrity's, nothing revealed itself." He looked up again and smiled coldly. "But we have a colleague - who actually couldn't be here today because, for some reason, the powers that be seem to think he had something to do with Patrick Garrity's death - who wouldn't give up. He's a damn good detective. And you know what he found?"

Haseejian took a file from Lessing and took out some more sheets, laying them overtop of the others. "He went to the Hall of Records and he went back through their files, and, hey, look what he found." Haseejian spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. As the others began to get up, he waved them back down with a chuckle, "No, no, no, you just stay there, I'll explain all this then I'll pass the papers around so you can see for yourself."

He turned his attention to the police officer at the table. "Sergeant Shepherd, your grandmother on your father's side, her name was O'Hallahan, wasn't it?"

Shepherd, his face suddenly closed and wary, nodded slowly.

"Yeah, that's what it says here. Brigitte O'Hallahan." Haseejian picked up a sheet of paper. "Oh, look at this." He turned his riveting gaze on Maureen Madsen. "We seem to have your family tree as well, Mrs. Madsen – by the way, why didn't you take your husband's name? We'll get to that later." He looked back at the paper in his hand. "Brigitte O'Hallahan is your maternal grandmother. Well, what a coincidence," he said with jovial sarcasm. "Now that would be the _same_ Brigitte O'Hallahan, wouldn't it? My my, small world…"

Putting the paper down, he looked up again. "So, that means that Don here is your second cousin, is it? I can never figure that out, cousins, second cousins, 'once removed'…?" He smiled vacuously, shrugging, then his eyes turned cold. "Bottom line, you're related, you're kin. All of you," he lifted his stare to include the entire Madsen clan sitting at the table opposite him.

"But, we didn't stop there." With a quick smile at Lessing and Tanner over his left shoulder, Haseejian continued. "We went way back once more and, hey, look at what we found." He slipped two more pages from the folder and dropped them onto the table. "We found two complaints – both over twenty years old – filed against Patrick Kean Garrity by his wife, Maureen Madsen, for domestic violence." He eyes softened slightly and he said quietly, "He beat you, didn't he? After he was fired from the department, he took to the bottle and he started to beat you. That's why you began to use your maiden name again and why you went to court to have your sons last name changed from Garrity to Madsen. You knew you couldn't divorce him - your upbringing and your church wouldn't allow it. So you did the next best thing, you deprived him of the legacy of having his name survive with his sons."

Haseejian put the file down and stood quietly for several moments. When he spoke again his voice was soft and understanding, his eyes riveted on Maureen Madsen. "You managed to live with him for all those years, didn't you? You managed to sublimate your hated towards him into love for your sons. But then it happened again, didn't it? Your son Andy stumbled on the opportunity to destroy the man who he believed had derailed his own father's career so many years ago, the father he idolized. But he got caught and his father wanted revenge and it all spiraled out of control.

"You'd had enough, didn't you? You couldn't let this man continue to destroy your life and your family. So you did the only thing you could think to do." He let the words sink in for a few seconds then, smiling benignly again, he opened another folder and took out more papers. "You couldn't do it alone, but you had family. So, once we figured that out, then we had to find out where all of you were at that particular time. Don, we knew where you were," he offered with a chuckle as he glanced at the now stony-faced sergeant, "so let's concentrate on the rest of you. Let's see, Aileen, you're off the hook," he looked up and smiled at the young woman, "and so are you, Maureen, just because, well, let's face it, neither of you could beat Patrick to death, drunk or not drunk."

He tossed two sheets of paper down on the table then looked up again, grinning smugly. "So that leaves you three. Let's see, John, you were at work and a lot of people vouched for you, so you're in the clear. Conor, your alibi holds up too, you were also at work and even more people vouched for you. Lucky boy."

As Haseejian looked slowly towards Colin, who started to shift uneasily in his seat, Lessing and Tanner stood up and walked towards the middle-aged man sitting between his brother and sister at the oblong table. "Colin Michael Madsen, you are under arrest for the murder of Patrick Kean Garrity."


	30. Chapter 30

"So, he just sat there, he didn't move, we had to pull him out of his chair to get the cuffs on him," Lessing said with a snort. "It's like he didn't believe we had actually figured it out. What, do they think we're morons or something? Thanks." He took the bottle of beer that Steve held out towards him.

Lessing was sitting in the armchair, Tanner on its arm. Mike and Haseejian were on the couch and Healey on one of the kitchen chairs that had been moved into the living room. Steve made the rounds with the beer bottles then went back into the kitchen for a glass of ginger ale for Mike and a glass of milk for himself.

Haseejian took a long draft then flopped his head back on the couch and sighed loudly. "It really came together smoothly, but gosh, I'm tired. Trying to keep things straight and get it all out in a … a… what's the word I'm looking for? Comprehensive! A comprehensive manner. God, that's a lot of work."

"Well, Gerry was impressed, I can tell ya," Tanner offered, holding his bottle up in a toast. "We're gonna go see him tomorrow but he already told us he's willing to take this to the Grand Jury asap."

"Well, I'm proud of all of you," said Mike, raising his ginger ale glass up as well. "Just wish I could've been there to see it."

"Me too," echoed Steve from the chair beside Healey, raising his milk glass.

"Thanks, guys," nodded Healey, "it sounds like you did a great job. I just wish we could've nailed 'Mrs. Garrity'. That Madsen dame, wow, she's a piece of work. I am almost positive she's the brains, if you can call it that, behind all this; her brother isn't dumb but I don't think he's got the wherewithal to finesse something like this. I'd bet my pension she's the one. But we can't touch her." He shrugged, then shook his head and snapped himself out of his funk. "But right now," he said energetically, standing up and taking off his jacket, "Bill, you and I have to get to work."

Tanner looked up with a frown. "Work? What are you talking about?"

Healey just grinned. "Lee, call your wife and tell her you aren't coming home for dinner. Bill, you too. Norm … nothing…" he laughed. "When Norm called to tell me you guys were done and how well it went, I went out and bought us all steaks and baked potatoes and beer, so Bill, you and I are gonna cook for everybody tonight – on me!"

Tanner got up, turning to Lessing with a 'Why me?' expression. Lessing laughed, shaking his head.

"You guys just sit here and talk amongst yourselves," Healey said as he and Tanner disappeared into the kitchen.

"Leave my kitchen in one piece!" Steve called after them.

# # # # #

"Make sure to cut your steak up really small, you're not supposed to be eating something this…firm yet," Mike instructed as Healey came to the table with the stack of rare steaks on a large plate.

Steve rolled his eyes as he stabbed the steak on top and dropped it onto his plate. "Yes, Mom," he simpered and averted his gaze when Mike turned a frosty stare his way.

"And don't think I didn't notice that beer bottle from earlier, either."

The others chuckled quietly as Lessing came up behind Mike and Steve with the plate of baked potatoes. Putting the plate down and stepping back, he pointed from Mike to Steve and mouthed, 'Pot….kettle…black!', finishing with his arms outstretched.

Total suppression was not possible, but Haseejian did his best to cover his outburst with a cough, Tanner got up from the table quickly, and Healey turned away and went back to the counter, doubling over and silently shaking. Both Mike and Steve looked at their colleagues in confusion, prompting even more laughter.

Finally all settled around the table, talk turned to the Giants and the A's, and temporarily at least, thoughts of their most recent ordeal faded into the background.

Dinner finished, lingering over cups of coffee, Mike noticed that Healey had pulled his chair back from the table and was sitting quietly, stirring his coffee, his eyes far away. Mike turned his chair slightly to face him better. "What's on your mind, Dan?"

Startled, Healey looked up and smiled almost guiltily. "Ah, nothing. I was just thinking…"

"About the case?"

"Yeah. There's something…" He let the sentence hang.

"What?" Haseejian prompted after several silent seconds.

Healey looked up. "I think we're missing something."

Everyone's head moved slightly in surprise. "What do you mean?" Tanner asked.

Healey shook his head, taking a deep breath. "I, ah, I can't put my finger on it, but I just think we've _, I've_ overlooked something. I have no idea what … But…" He looked at his boss. "Mike, you're always telling us to go with our gut, right?"

The older man nodded.

"Well, I know I'm the one that put all this together, with you guys of course, but I've been really living with this for the past couple of weeks and I know it inside and out, and… my gut is telling me we don't have everything right now. There's something we're missing and I've got a feeling that it's gonna come back to bite us on the ass really bad."

Mike, his brow furrowed, looked at his other sergeant. "Norm..?"

Haseejian glanced at Mike then looked at his partner once more. "Dan, what are you thinking?"

Healey sat back and smiled sadly. "Nothing, nothing," he said quickly, shaking his head. "I'm just being paranoid, that's all. We got him – it was Colin Madsen, right? We got him."

Mike nodded slowly, still frowning, his eyes not leaving Healey. The others followed suit.

"You got him, Dan," Tanner said with an encouraging smile.

Steve approached Healey with the coffee pot. "More coffee?" he asked, and he refilled the cup when Healey held it up.

# # # # #

Steve opened the front door and started down the steps, car keys in hand. He had just reached the Porsche when Mike stuck his head out the door. "Mortadella," the older man said loudly, "we forgot mortadella. Get about a quarter pound. And the good stuff, the Italian stuff, right?"

Grinning, Steve nodded as he got into the car. Mike watched as the Porsche headed off up the block and around the corner, then he shut the door and walked back into the kitchen. He was starting to feel better and found that his stamina was improving, though his chest was still tender and he knew he had to be careful about over-exerting his heart.

He turned on the tap to fill the sink when he heard the doorbell ring. Turning the tap off, he crossed slowly back into the living room and opened the door. A good-looking well-built young man stood on the stoop, his wide smile disappearing somewhat when his eyes fell on Mike. "Oh," he said in surprise, "hi, I'm looking for Steven Keller?"

Mike smiled. "You've got the right place. He lives here. I'm staying with him right now. I'm afraid he's gone out for a bit. Is there anything I can do for you?"

The young man held out his hand. "Ian. My older brother Peter was a classmate of his at Berkeley years ago. Peter told me that if I was ever in San Francisco I should look Steve up and say hi, they were good friends."

Mike's smile got wider and he stepped back to let the younger man enter the house.

"Well, come on in, Ian. I'm Mike. Steve's a cop now and I'm his partner." Mike shut the door. "He should be back in a little bit. I just put on a fresh pot of coffee. Care to have a cup and wait for him?"

Ian grinned happily. "That sounds great, thanks a lot."

Mike led the way into the kitchen. "Where's your brother living now?" he asked, not noticing the younger man 's quick glance around the living room, hesitating only briefly to pick up one of the bed pillows on the end of the couch.

"Oh, ah, I'm not sure," Ian said vaguely as he followed the older man into the kitchen, his eyes riveted to the back of Mike's head, watching his every move.

Without turning back, Mike crossed to the cupboards and opened an upper one, reaching for a mug. "Steve always has good things to say about his time at Berkeley. What did your brother –?" He glanced towards his guest and froze, the mug halfway to the counter, as he noticed the pillow in Ian's arms, now pressed against his chest.

"Put the cup down," Ian ordered, his voice low and flat. Mike did so and turned slowly towards the younger man, who was grinning coldly. "I'm sorry, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. I didn't introduce myself properly, Lieutenant Stone. My name is Conor Ian Madsen and Patrick Garrity was my father."

Mike swallowed heavily, his eyes flicking past Madsen to the living room.

Madsen noticed the movement but declined to comment. "Yeah, there was no love lost between Daddy and me. That was my older brother's flaw. Andy idolized that…piece of trash that spawned us. I had no such delusions. I knew he was a loser from the second I could string two words together."

"What do you want?" Mike asked calmly.

"Oh, I think you've figured that out by now." He took a step forward and, almost involuntarily, Mike took a half-step back, but his eyes never left the younger man's.

"One way or another over the years, inadvertently or not, you've single-handedly destroyed my family, _Mike_ ," he said the name disdainfully. "The family's pretty much gone now – my father's dead, my brother and my uncle are going to prison, my mom's already back in Ireland, and I'll be there soon too." He chuckled as he took another step closer; this time Mike held his ground.

"I can tell you this because, let's face it, you're not going to be able to tell anybody, right? I mean, I know all about your 'health problems' right now. I know that with one well-positioned punch right over your heart, I can take you down, permanently. That's all it'll take, and I won't even have to break a sweat." He shifted the pillow into one hand as he took another step forward.

Moving with incredible speed, he grabbed Mike's shirt and spun the older man around, slamming him into the fridge. The impact was jarring and Mike gasped in pain. With his left hand around Mike's throat, pinning him to the fridge, he raised the pillow and placed it over Mike's chest, slipping the pillowcase end under his left hand, leaving the pillow dangling.

He looked deep into Mike's wide eyes and leaned forward slightly. "I don't want to leave any kind of handprints or knuckleprints, you know? Those guys in the lab, I know just how good they can be." With a contemptuous grin, he took a step back to the full extent of his outstretched arm, balled his right hand into a fist and cocked his arm.


	31. Chapter 31

**Thanks, everyone, for coming along on the ride. It's been fun for me - and I hope for you as well.**

Madsen drew his right fist back, staring smugly into Mike's wide eyes. Under his left hand grip around the older man's neck, Madsen felt the cop stiffen in fear. He began to lean forward to throw the punch when cold metal slammed into his skull just behind his left ear and a deep voice hissed, "You so much as flinch and your brains will be all over this kitchen. Let him go."

Madsen froze then his gaze shifted to his left and from the corner of his eye he saw the face of Detective Sergeant Dan Healey.

"Do as he says," came another gravelly voice from his right, and Madsen didn't have to look to know it belonged to Sergeant Haseejian.

"Let go of him," Healey hissed again, and slowly Madsen opened his left hand and lowered his right arm. Healey glanced at Mike as Madsen's hand left his throat and the pillow hit the floor; the older man closed his eyes, the back of his head against the fridge, standing stock still.

Haseejian quickly holstered his .38, snagged the cuffs from his belt, stepped behind Madsen and, pulling his right arm behind his back, secured the cuff then reached for his left arm to do the same. Madsen didn't resist. Haseejian turned him and propelled him towards the living room. "In there," he growled, "and on your knees."

Healey stepped in front of Mike as he holstered his own gun and put his hands on the older man's upper arms. "Are you okay?" he asked anxiously.

Mike opened his eyes and tried to look at Healey but he was having trouble focusing. Suddenly his eyes rolled back and he collapsed. Healey caught him as he fell and lowered him to the floor, grabbing the pillow and placing it under his head.

"Norm," Healey called into the living room, "toss me the blanket on the couch, now!"

Almost instantly Haseejian appeared in the doorway and handed Healey the blanket. "How's he doin'?" he asked anxiously.

Healey shook his head quickly. "I don't know. It doesn't look good."

"Should we call an ambulance?"

"No," came Mike's voice weakly from the floor and both sergeants turned in his direction. Mike's eyes were still closed. "No," he said again, "I'm okay."

Healey glanced up at his partner and shrugged. Haseejian disappeared back into the living room and, as Healey spread the blanket over his fallen colleague, he heard the front door being opened.

Steve charged up the outside steps and into the living room. "Have you got him?" he barked as he entered, his eyes falling on Madsen kneeling handcuffed in the centre of the room. He looked up at Haseejian, who nodded with concern towards the kitchen. "Mike!" Steve yelled as he sprinted the few feet into the kitchen and dropped to his knees beside Healey, staring at his partner lying under the blanket on the floor, eyes closed.

"Did he...?" Steve asked anxiously and Healey shook his head quickly.

"He didn't hit him, but I think he slammed him into the fridge and he did have his hand around his throat."

Steve swallowed hard then leaned over his partner. "Mike, can you hear me?"

Eyes remaining closed, Mike nodded slightly.

"Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

A head shake 'no'.

Steve glanced at Healey. Then he caught some movement under the blanket and Mike's hand appeared, groping in their direction. Steve grabbed his hand and squeezed, relieved to feel a strong grip returned.

"I just need to lie here for a bit," Mike said softly, "my heart's pounding…"

Steve and Healey exchanged a somewhat relieved look. Healey nodded and stood up, joining Haseejian in the living room. Steve sat more comfortably on the floor, Mike's hand in his lap, trying to quiet his own racing heart. He heard the siren of a squad car approach and die on the street outside his apartment, and seconds later the pounding of hard-soled shoes on the steps and people entering the living room. The bustle stayed in the other room; the kitchen remained a calm oasis.

Eventually the noise subsided, people exited and the front door was closed. Though he didn't see or hear them, Steve knew that Haseejian and Healey were still in the apartment, probably sitting on the couch, waiting and hoping.

After a while, Steve felt his hand being shaken and he looked down to see Mike staring at him. Steve leaned closer.

"You might want to start cleaning your kitchen floor more often – I think I'm lying in bread crumbs," Mike whispered with a smile,

In the living room, Haseejian and Healey heard Steve's laugh and looked at each other in relief.

# # # # #

Steve opened the front door to find an agitated Olsen standing on his stoop.

"Is he okay?" Olsen demanded as he brushed past Steve into the apartment. "And what the hell went wrong?" His eyes flicked around the room, nodding at the detectives who had stood upon his entrance. "Where is he?"

Steve had calmly closed the door and turned to face his superior, his hands outstretched in a pacifying gesture. "He's fine, Rudy. He's lying down upstairs in my bedroom, but he's okay. Don't worry."

Olsen exhaled loudly and visibly relaxed, nodding. He started to cross to the couch and Haseejian and Healey stepped aside to give him room. Tanner brought a chair in from the kitchen and gestured for Healey to take the armchair he'd been occupying as he sat on the kitchen chair.

"So what the hell happened?"

Haseejian glanced at his partner then leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Rudy, it went just like we anticipated. We knew it wasn't going to be easy and that this guy was a real loose cannon, but we were with Mike the entire time." Haseejian gestured at the coffee table and Olsen looked down to see the two portable tape recorders. "We had to wait till he said enough to incriminate himself. It went a little further than we had hoped it would, and Mike got a little roughed up, but we got what we needed."

"A little roughed up?" Olsen looked at Healey.

"Madsen threw him up against the fridge and put his hand around his throat," he said with a shrug, trying to counter the severity of the words with his upbeat tone.

Olsen eyebrows rose in alarm and Steve stepped in quickly. "Rudy, he's upstairs. Go up and see for yourself."

"I think I will," Olsen said angrily, getting to his feet and crossing to the stairs.

"I hope Mike's awake or we're not going to hear the end of this," said Tanner with a smile.

"I could use another coffee," said Lessing as he got to his feet and started for the kitchen. "Anyone else?"

# # # # #

Olsen rapped lightly on the door then pushed it open. The lights were off but there was enough sunlight streaming through the window to illuminate the room. He could see Mike lying on top of the bed, still fully clothed, his eyes closed.

At the sound of the door, Mike opened his eyes and looked over. Olsen entered quietly, closing the door behind him. "Mike?" he said softly, "it's Rudy. I just came to make sure you're okay."

Starting to smile, Mike started to push himself up.

"No, no, no," Olsen said quickly, crossing to the bed, "stay where you are. Don't get up." He put his hand lightly on Mike's shoulder and pushed him back down, Mike acquiescing easily. Olsen sat on the edge of bed and stared at his old friend for several long seconds. "Are you really okay?" he asked finally.

Mike grinned and nodded. "Yeah," he said slowly. "He was a little rougher on me than I'd hoped, but everything went just as we planned and we got him, Rudy."

"And whose idea was all of this?"

Mike looked away guiltily then chuckled, "Well, Dan had this feeling and I suggested –"

"Okay, you can stop there," Olsen interrupted. "I get the picture." He patted Mike's arm. "I'm just glad you're okay. Listen, I'm gonna leave you to get some rest…" He started to get up but Mike grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Rudy, hang on a minute. I want to talk to you about something."

# # # # #

Healey rubbed his hands over his face and started to stand. "Well, you Armenian nutbag," he began.

Haseejian looked at him with a "Hey!"

Healey chuckled and continued, "We better get downtown, we've got a hell of a lot of paperwork to get through before we get home tonight." He looked at the others soberly. "I don't know about you guys, but I am so glad this is finally over. I don't think I could take anymore."

All heads nodded, and Steve added dryly, "Tell me about it. And I'm really sure Mike's thrilled it's finally all over. As it is, it's gonna be quite awhile till he's back to work." He followed the others to the front door.

Lessing shook his head. "I still can't believe that little shit had the audacity to come here. I mean, what was he thinking? He could have just gotten on the plane to Ireland and we'd've never seen him again."

Haseejian snorted mirthlessly. "Family honor. It's a hell of a thing sometimes. And if you don't believe me, go to the library and look up 'Armenian genocide' and that'll give you some idea of the weight my family carries around."

Healey opened the front door, slapping Haseejian on the shoulder as his partner walked past and out onto the stoop.

Tanner glanced up the stairs. "I wonder what Mike and Rudy are doing up there?" he mused, and the others shrugged.

# # # # #

"Okay, so you know what Rudy said, if he sees you outside of this office at anytime during the day, except for going back and forth to the washroom, he's gonna kick you out of the building," Steve reminded his partner as he put one of the two coffee cups down on the desk.

Mike chuckled and picked up his cup. "I know, I know. I heard this lecture from everyone this morning." He tipped his chair back carefully. "You have no idea how good it feels to be here."

Steve smiled as he dropped into the second chair. "Yeah, I think I do." He sipped his coffee. "So, you settle in, and I'll get some of the files we've been working on lately and you can spend today catching up on what's been going on for the past six weeks. I have to go out with Bill; we're still working on that hooker murder from last week. But believe me, you'll have enough to keep you busy." He stood and crossed to the door, turning back with an upraised eyebrow. "Come to think of it, the crime rate seems to go up when you're not around. Coincidence? Hmmmm…"

"Very funny. Uh, wait a minute, what are you doing going out on the streets? I thought you were confined to the office too, until your nose healed completely?"

Steve shot him a long-suffering look. "Bill and I are interviewing an 84-year-old woman in her home. I think I'm pretty safe."

Mikes look of concern slowly morphed into a wry smile. "Well, just be careful of a wayward elbow when she hands you the teacup," he said with mock seriousness.

"Thanks for the heads up," Steve laughed as he crossed back to his desk.

Mike chuckled as he watched him go, then sat back and looked around his office with a smile. He tipped his chair forward again, put his cup down and was opening the top drawer to take out some pens and a pad when he heard a knock on his door.

Healey smiled. "Hey, Mike, ah, can I come in?" he asked almost formally.

"Of course, Dan," Mike answered with a smile and gestured towards the chair recently vacated by his partner. Healey entered and closed the door before taking the seat. "What's on your mind?"

Healey reached into his inside jacket pocket and removed a folded sheet of bond. He unfolded it and handed it to Mike without saying a word.

Frowning, Mike took the paper, fished his reading glasses out of his breast pocket and put them on and, with one last glance at Healey, started to read. When he finished, he looked at his sergeant overtop of the glasses, his expression unreadable. He slowly folded the paper. "Well, I have to admit, in all my years, I have never seen something like this. An apology _and_ a commendation." He smiled slowly. "And I can't think of anyone who deserves it more." He handed the paper back to Healey and held out his hand. "Congratulations, Sergeant."

Standing, Healey took the paper back and shook his boss's hand. "Ah, thanks, Mike. I really wasn't expecting this. I owe a lot of this to you -"

"I hardly think so, Dan," Mike cut him off. "All I did was manage to get shot – twice." He shook his head in slightly embarrassment bewilderment. "In a month…" He chuckled quietly, muttering almost to himself, "That's gotta be some kind of record."

He looked back up at Healey and grinned. "No, you were the one with the most to lose and the most to gain from all this. And you performed brilliantly, Dan." He pointed to the letter still in Healey's hand. "That is deserved, and every word of it is true. I am very proud to have you in my squad."

Healey swallowed then smiled self-consciously. "Thanks, Mike. I appreciate that. And hey, I owe half of this," he held up the letter, "to that crazy Armenian. I think I'll take him out for dinner tonight."

"That's a great idea."

Healey crossed to the door, turning back as he opened it. "Thanks again, Mike. And welcome back."

As Healey walked by, Steve got up from his desk, a pile of files in his hand and crossed into his partner's office. "What was that all about?"

Mike looked up at him and smiled. "That was about a great police officer finally getting his due. So, what do you have for me?"


End file.
